THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 


WENT   ALONG   THE   SHINING 


IN   A   DREAM   OF  PERFECT   CONTENT. 

[p.  30. 


FOR  ONE  INSTANT,  ONE  INSTANT  ONLY,  FORTUNE  FELT  SURE,  QUITE  SURE,  THAT 
SOME  WAT  OR  OTHER  SHE  WAS  VERY  DEAR  TO  ROBERT  ROY.      [p.  49 


THE  LAUREL  BUSH 


(Q)l&<-fa0l)i0neir 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 


JOHN  HALIFAX,  GENTLEMAN,"  &c. 


NEW  YORK: 
HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN     BQUAEE. 

1876. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "JOHN  HALIFAX.' 


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GIFT 


Copyright,  1876,  by  HAEPEU  &  BUOTUEES. 


THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

TT  was  a  very  ugly  bush  indeed ;  that  is,  so  far 
as  any  thing  in  nature  can  be  really  ugly.  It 
was  lapsided — having  on  the  one  hand  a  stunted 
stump  or  two,  while  on  the  other  a  huge,  heavy 
branch  swept  down  to  the  gravel-walk.  It  had  a 
crooked,  gnarled  trunk  or  stem,  hollow  enough  to 
entice  any  weak-minded  bird  to  build  a  nest  there 
— only  it  was  so  near  to  the  ground,  and  also  to 
the  garden  gate.  Besides,  the  owners  of  the  gar- 
den, evidently  of  practical  mind,  had  made  use  of 
it  to  place  between  a  fork  in  its  branches  a  sort 
of  letter-box — not  the  Government  regulation  one, 
for  twenty  years  ago  this  had  not  been  thought 
of,  but  a  rough  receptacle,  where,  the  house  being 


10  THE   LAUREL   BUSH. 

a  good  way  off,  letters  might  be  deposited,  instead 
of,  as  hitherto,  in  a  hole  in  the  trunk — near  the 
foot  of  the  tree,  and  under  shelter  of  its  mass  of 
evergreen  leaves. 

This  letter-box,  made  by  the  boys  of  the  family 
at  the  instigation  and  with  the  assistance  of  their 
tutor,  had  proved  so  attractive  to  some  exceeding- 
ly incautious  sparrow,  that  during  the  intervals  of 
the  post  she  had  begun  a  nest  there,  which  was 
found  by  the  boys.  Exceedingly  wild  boys  they 
were,  and  a  great  trouble  to  their  old  grandmoth- 
er, with  whom  they  were  staying  the  summer,  and 
their  young  governess  —  "Misfortune,"  as  they 
called  her,  her  real  name  being  Miss  Williams — 
Fortune  Williams.  The  nickname  was  a  little  too 
near  the  truth,  as  a  keener  observer  than  mischiev- 
ous boys  would  have  read  in  her  quiet,  sometimes 
sad  face ;  and  it  had  been  stopped  rather  severely 
by  the  tutor  of  the  elder  boys,  a  young  man  whom 
the  grandmother  had  been  forced  to  get  to  "  keep 
them  in  order."  He  was  a  Mr.  Kobert  Eoy,  once 
a  student,  now  a  teacher  of  the  "  humanities,"  from 
the  neighboring  town — I  beg  its  pardon,  city ;  and 
a  lovely  old  city  it  is ! — of  St.  Andrews.  Thence 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   LOVE  STORY.  11 

he  was  in  the  habit  of  coming  to  them  three  and 
often  four  days  in  the  week,  teaching  of  mornings 
and  walking  of  afternoons.  They  had  expected 
him  this  afternoon,  but  their  grandmother  had  car- 
ried them  off  on  some  pleasure  excursion;  and, 
being  a  lady  of  inexact  habits,  one,  too,  to  whom 
tutors  were  tutors  and  nothing  more,  she  had 
merely  said  to  Miss  Williams,  as  the  carriage  drove 
away,  "  When  Mr.  Koy  comes,  tell  him  he  is  not 
wanted  till  to-morrow." 

And  so  Miss  Williams  had  waited  at  the  gate, 
not  wishing  him  to  have  the  additional  trouble  of 
walking  up  to  the  house,  for  she  knew  every  min- 
ute of  his  time  was  precious.  The  poor  and  the 
hard-working  can  understand  and  sympathize  with 
one  another.  Only  a  tutor  and  only  a  governess : 
Mrs.  Dalziel  drove  away,  and  never  thought  of 
them  again.  They  were  mere  machines — servants 
to  whom  she  paid  their  wages,  and,  so  that  they  did 
sufficient  service  to  deserve  these  wages,  she  never 
interfered  with  them,  nor,  indeed,  wasted  a  mo- 
ment's consideration  upon  them  or  their  concerns. 

Consequently,  they  were  in  the  somewhat  rare 
and  peculiar  position  of  a  young  man  and  young 


12  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

woman  —  perhaps  Mrs.  Dalziel  would  have  taken 
exception  to  the  words  "  young  lady  and  young 
gentleman" — thrown  together  day  after  day,  week 
after  week ;  nay,  it  had  now  become  month  after 
month ;  to  all  intents  and  purposes  quite  alone, 
except  for  the  children.  They  taught  together, 
there  being  but  one  school-room;  walked  out  to- 
gether, for  the  two  younger  boys  refused  to  be 
separated  from  their  elder  brothers ;  and,  in  short, 
spent  two-thirds  of  their  existence  together,  with- 
out let  or  hinderance,  comment  or  observation,  from 
any  mortal  soul. 

I  do  not  wish  to  make  any  mystery  in  this  story. 
A  young  woman  of  twenty-five  and  a  young  man 
of  thirty,  both  perfectly  alone  in  the  world — or- 
phans, without  brother  or  sister — having  to  earn 
their  own  bread,  and  earn  it  hardly,  and,  being 
placed  in  circumstances  where  they  had  every  op- 
portunity of  intimate  friendship,  sympathy,  what- 
ever you  like  to  call  it — who  could  doubt  what 
would  happen?  The  more  so,  as  there  was  no 
one  to  suggest  that  it  might  happen ;  no  one  to 
watch  them  or  warn  them,  or  waken  them  with 
worldly-minded  hints ;  or  else  to  rise  up,  after  the 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE   STORY.  13 

fashion  of  so  many  wise  parents  and  guardians  and 
well-intentioned  friends,  and  indignantly  shut  the 
stable-door  after  the  steed  is  stolen. 

No.  That  something  which  was  so  sure  to  hap- 
pen had  happened  ;  you  might  have  seen  it  in 
their  eyes,  have  heard  it  in  the  very  tone  of  their 
voices,  though  they  still  talked  in  a  very  common- 
place way,  and  still  called  each  other  "  Miss  Wil- 
liams "  and  "  Mr.  Koy."  In  fact,  their  whole  de- 
meanor to  one  another  was  characterized  by  the 
grave  and  even  formal  decorum  which  was  natural 
to  very  reserved  people,  just  trembling  on  the 
verge  of  that  discovery  which,  will  unlock  the 
heart  of  each  to  the  other,  and  annihilate  reserve 
forever  between  the  two  whom  Heaven  has  de- 
signed and  meant  to  become  one — a  completed  ex- 
istence. If,  by  any  mischance,  this  does  not  come 
about,  each  may  lead  a  very  creditable  and  not  un- 
happy life ;  but  it  will  be  a  locked-up  life — one  to 
which  no  third  person  is  ever  likely  to  find  the 
key. 

Whether  such  natures  are  to  be  envied  or  pitied 
is  more  than  I  can  say ;  but,  at  least,  they  are  more 
to  be  respected  than  the  people  who  wear  their 


14  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

hearts  upon  their  sleeves  for  daws  to  peck  at,  and 
very  often  are  all  the  prouder  the  more  they  are 
pecked  at,  and  the  more  elegantly  they  bleed; 
which  was  not  likely  to  be  the  case  with  either  of 
these  young  folks,  young  as  they  were. 

They  were  young,  and  youth  is  always  interest- 
ing, and  even  comely ;  but  beyond  that  there  was 
nothing  remarkable  about  either.  He  was  Scotch; 
she  English,  or,  rather,  Welsh.  She  had  the  clear 
blue  Welsh  eye,  the  funny  retrousse  Welsh  nose; 
but  with  the  prettiest  little  mouth  underneath  it, 
firm,  close,  and  sweet ;  full  of  sensitiveness,  but  a 
sensitiveness  that  was  controlled  and  guided  by 
that  best  possession  to  either  man  or  woman,  a 
good,  strong  will.  No  one  could  doubt  that  the 
young  governess  had,  what  was  a  very  useful  thing 
to  a  governess,  "  a  will  of  her  own ; "  but  not  a 
domineering  or  obnoxious  will,  which  indeed  is 
seldom  will  at  all,  but  merely  obstinacy. 

For  the  rest,  Miss  Williams  was  a  little  woman, 
or  gave  the  impression  of  being  so,  from  her  slight 
figure  and  delicate  hands  and  feet.  I  doubt  if  any 
one  would  have  called  her  pretty,  until  he  or  she 
had  learned  to  love  her.  For  there  are  two  dis- 


AN   OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  15 

tinct  kinds  of  love,  one  in  which  the  eye  instructs 
the  heart,  and  the  other  in  which  the  heart  informs 
and  guides  the  eye.  There  have  been  men  who, 
seeing  an  unknown  beautiful  face,  have  felt  sure  it 
implied  the  most  beautiful  soul  in  the  world,  pur- 
sued it,  worshiped  it,  wooed  and  won  it,  found  the 
fancy  true,  and  loved  the  woman  forever.  Other 
men  there  are,  who  would  simply  say,  "I  don't 
know  if  such  a  one  is  handsome  or  not;  I  only 
know  she  is  herself— and  mine."  Both  loves  are 
good ;  nay,  it  is  difficult  to  say  which  is  best.  But 
the  latter  would  be  the  most  likely  to  any  one 
who  became  attached  to  Fortune  Williams. 

Also,  perhaps,  to  Kobert  Eoy,  though  no  one 
expects  good  looks  in  his  sex;  indeed,  they  are 
mostly  rather  objectionable.  Women  do  not  usu- 
ally care  for  a  very  handsome  man ;  and  men  are 
prone  to  set  him  down  as  conceited.  No  one 
could  lay  either  charge  to  Mr.  Eoy.  He  was  only 
an  honest-looking  Scotchman,  tall  and  strong  and 
manly.  Not  "  red,"  in  spite  of  his  name,  but  dark- 
skinned  and  dark -haired;  in  no  way  resembling 
his  great  namesake,  Eob  Eoy  Macgregor,  as  the 
boys  sometimes  called  him  behind  his  back  — 


16  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

never  to  his  face.  Gentle  as  the  young  man  was, 
there  was  something  about  him  which  effectually 
prevented  any  one's  taking  the  smallest  liberty 
with  him.  Though  he  had  been  a  teacher  of  boys 
ever  since  he  was  seventeen  —  and  I  have  heard 
one  of  the  fraternity  confess  that  it  is  almost  im- 
possible to  be  a  school-master  for  ten  years  with- 
out becoming  a  tyrant — still  it  was  a  pleasant  and 
sweet-tempered  face.  Very  far  from  a  weak  face, 
though :  when  Mr.  Roy  said  a  thing  must  be  done, 
every  one  of  his  boys  knew  it  must  be  done,  and 
there  was  no  use  saying  any  more  about  it. 

He  had  unquestionably  that  rare  gift,  the  power 
of  authority,  though  this  did  not  necessarily  im- 
ply self-  control ;  for  some  people  can  rule  every- 
body except  themselves.  But  Eobert  Koy's  clear, 
calm,  rather  sad  eye,  and  a  certain  patient  expres- 
sion about  the  mouth,  implied  that  he,  too,  had  had 
enough  of  the  hard  training  of  life  to  be  able  to 
govern  himself  And  that  is  more  difficult  to  a 
man  than  to  a  woman. 

'*  All  thy  passions  matched  with  mine 
Are  as  moonlight  unto  sunlight,  or  as  water  unto  wine. " 

A  truth  which  even  Fortune's  tender  heart  did 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  17 

not  fully  take  in,  deep  as  was  her  sympathy  for 
him;  for  his  toilsome,  lonely  life  lived  more  in 
shadow  than  in  sunshine,  and  with  every  tempta- 
tion to  the  selfishness  which  is  so  apt  to  follow 
self-dependence,  and  the  bitterness  that  to  a  proud 
spirit  so  often  makes  the  sting  of  poverty.  Yet 
he  was  neither  selfish  nor  bitter;  only  a  little  re- 
served, silent,  and  —  except  with  children  —  rather 
grave. 

She  stood  watching  him  now,  for  she  could  see 
him  a  long  way  off  across  the  level  Links,  and  no- 
ticed that  he  stopped  more  than  once  to  look  at 
the  golf-players.  He  was  a  capital  golfer  himself, 
but  had  never  any  time  to  play.  Between  his 
own  studies  and  the  teaching  by  which  he  earned 
the  money  to  prosecute  them,  every  hour  was  fill- 
ed up.  So  he  turned  his  back  on  the  pleasant 
pastime,  which  seems  to  have  such  an  extraordi- 
nary fascination  for  those  who  pursue  it,  and  came 
on  to  his  daily  work,  with  that  resolute,  deliberate 
step,  bent  on  going  direct  to  his  point  and  turning 
aside  for  nothing. 

Fortune  knew  it  well  by  this  time ;  had  learned 
to  distinguish  it  from  all  others  in  the  world. 


18  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

There  are  some  footsteps  which  by  a  pardonable 
poetical  license  we  say  "  we  should  hear  in  our 
graves;"  and  though  this  girl  did  not  think  of  that 
(for  death  looked  far  off,  and  she  was  scarcely  a  po- 
etical person),  still,  many  a  morning,  when,  sitting 
at  her  school -room  window,  she  heard  Mr.  Koy 
coming  steadily  down  the  gravel -walk,  she  was 
conscious  of — something  which  people  can  not  feel 
twice  in  a  life-time. 

And  now,  when  he  approached,  with  that  kind 
smile  of  his,  which  brightened  into  double  pleasure 
when  he  saw  who  was  waiting  for  him,  she  was 
aware  of  a  wild  heart -beat,  a  sense  of  exceeding 
joy,  and  then  of  relief  and  rest.  He  was  "com- 
fortable "  to  her.  She  could  express  it  in  no  other 
way.  At  sight  of  his  face  and  at  sound  of  his 
voice  all  worldly  cares  and  troubles,  of  which  she 
had  a  good  many,  seemed  to  fall  off.  To  be  with 
him  was  like  having  an  arm  to  lean  on,  a  light  to 
walk  by ;  and  she  had  walked  alone  so  long. 

"  Good -after  noon,  Miss  Williams." 

"  Good-afternoon,  Mr.  Roy." 

They  said  no  more  than  that,  but  the  stupidest 
person  in  the  world  might  have  seen  that  they 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   LOVE  STORY.  19 

were  glad  to  meet,  glad  to  be  together.  Though 
neither  they  nor  any  one  else  could  have  explain- 
ed the  mysterious  fact,  the  foundation  of  all  love 
stories,  in  books  or  in  life — and  which  the  present 
author  owns,  after  having  written  many  books  and 
seen  a  great  deal  of  life,  is  to  her  also  as  great  a 
mystery  as  ever — Why  do  certain  people  like  to 
be  together?  What  is  the  inexplicable  attraction 
which  makes  them  seek  one  another,  suit  one  an- 
other, put  up  with  one  another's  weaknesses,  con- 
done one  another's  faults  (when  neither  are  too 
great  to  lessen  love),  and  to  the  last  day  of  life 
find  a  charm  in  one  another's  society  which  ex- 
tends to  no  other  human  being  ?  Happy  love,  or 
lost  love — a  full  world,  or  an  empty  world — life 
with  joy,  or  life  without  it — that  is  all  the  differ- 
ence. Which  some  people  think  very  small,  and 
that  it  does  not  matter;  and  perhaps  it  does  not, 
to  many  people.  But  it  does  to  some,  and  I  in- 
cline to  put  among  that  category  Miss  Williams 
and  Mr.  Roy. 

They  stood  by  the  laurel  bush,  having  just 
shaken  hands,  rather  more  hastily  than  they  usu- 
ally did ;  but  the  absence  of  the  children,  and  the 


20  THE   LAUREL  BUSH. 

very  unusual  fact  of  their  being  quite  alone,  gave 
to  both  a  certain  shyness,  and  she  had  drawn  her 
hand  away,  saying,  with  a  slight  blush : 

"Mrs.  Dalziel  desired  me  to  meet  you  and  tell 
you  that  you  might  have  a  holiday  to-day.  She 
has  taken  the  boys  with  her  to  Elie.  I  dare  say 
you  will  not  be  sorry  to  gain  an  hour  or  two  for 
yourself;  though  I  am  sorry  you  should  have  the 
trouble  of  the  walk  for  nothing." 

"For  nothing?"  with  the  least  shadow  of  a 
smile ;  not  of  annoyance  certainly. 

"  Indeed,  I  would  have  let  you  know  if  I  could, 
but  she  decided  at  the  very  last  minute ;  and  if  I 
had  proposed  that  a  messenger  should  have  been 
sent  to  stop  you,  I  am  afraid  it  would  not  have 
answered." 

"Of  course  not,"  and  they  interchanged  an 
amused  look  —  these  fellow -victims  to  the  well- 
known  ways  of  the  household  —  which,  however, 
neither  grumbled  at:  it  was  merely  an  outside 
thing,  this  treatment  of  both  as  mere  tutor  and 
governess.  After  all  (as  he  sometimes  said,  when 
some  special  rudeness,  not  to  himself,  but  to  her, 
vexed  him),  they  were  tutor  and  governess;  but 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   LOVE   STORY.  21 

they  were  something  else  besides;  something  which, 
the  instant  their  chains  were  lifted  off,  made  them 
feel  free  and  young  and  strong;  and  comforted 
them  with  a  comfort  unspeakable. 

"  She  bid  me  apologize.  No,  I  am  afraid,  if  I 
tell  the  absolute  truth,  she  did  not  bid  me ;  but  I 
do  apologize." 

"What  for,  Miss  Williams?" 

"For  your  having  been  brought  out  all  this 
way  just  to  go  back  again." 

"  1  do  not  mind  it,  I  assure  you." 

"And  as  for  the  lost  lesson — " 

"  The  boys  will  not  mourn  over  it,  I  dare  say. 
In  fact,  their  term  with  me  is  so  soon  coming  to 
an  end,  that  it  does  not  signify  much.  They  told 
me  they  are  going  back  to  England,  to  school, 
next  week.  Do  you  go  back  too?" 

"Not  just  yet;  not  till  next  Christmas.  Mrs. 
Dalziel  talks  of  wintering  in  London,  but  she  is  so 
vague  in  her  plans  that  I  am  never  sure  from  one 
week  to  another  what  she  will  do." 

"  And  what  are  your  plans  ?  You  always  know 
what  you  intend  to  do  ?" 

"Yes,  I   think   so,"  answered  Miss  Williams, 


22  THE   LAUREL  BUSH. 

smiling.  "  One  of  the  few  things  I  remember  of 
mj  mother  was  hearing  her  say  of  me,  that  '  her 
little  girl  was  a  little  girl  who  always  knew  her 
own  mind.'  I  think  I  do.  I  may  not  be  always 
able  to  carry  it  out,  but  I  think  I  know  it." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Mr.  Koy,  absently  and  some- 
what vaguely,  as  he  stood  beside  the  laurel  bush, 
pulling  one  of  its  shiny  leaves  to  pieces,  and  look- 
ing right  ahead,  across  the  sunshiny  Links,  the 
long  shore  of  yellow  sands,  where  the  mermaids 
might  well  delight  to  come  and  "take  hands" — 
to  the  smooth,  dazzling,  far-away  sea.  No  sea  is 
more  beautiful  than  that  at  St.  Andrews. 

Its  sleepy  glitter  seemed  to  have  lulled  Kobert 
Eoy  into  a  sudden  meditation,  from  which  no 
word  of  his  companion  came  to  rouse  him.  In 
truth,  she,  never  given  much  to  talking,  simply 
stood,  as  she  often  did,  silently  beside  him;  quite 
satisfied  with  the  mere  comfort  of  his  presence. 

I  am  afraid  this  Fortune  Williams  will  be  con- 
sidered a  very  weak-minded  young  woman.  She 
was  not  a  bit  of  a  coquette,  she  had  not  the  slight- 
est wish  to  flirt  with  any  man.  Nor  was  she  a 
proud  beauty  desirous  to  subjugate  the  other  sex, 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  23 

and  drag  them  triumphantly  at  her  chariot-wheels. 
She  did  not  see  the  credit,  or  the  use,  or  the  pleas- 
ure, of  any  such  proceeding.  She  was  a  self-con- 
tained, self-dependent  woman.  Thoroughly  a 
woman ;  not  indifferent  at  all  to  womanhood's 
best  blessing;  still,  she  could  live  without  it  if 
necessary,  as  she  could  have  lived  without  any 
thing  which  it  had  pleased  God  to  deny  her.  She 
was  not  a  creature  likely  to  die  for  love,  or  do 
wrong  for  love,  which  some  people  think  the  only 
test  of  love's  strength,  instead  of  being  its  utmost 
weakness;  but  that  she  was  capable  of  love,  for 
all  her  composure  and  quietness — capable  of  it,  and 
ready  for  it,  in  its  intensest,  most  passionate,  and 
most  enduring  form  —  the  God  who  made  her 
knew,  if  no  one  else  did. 

Her  time  would  come;  indeed,  had  come  already. 
She  had  too  much  self-respect  to  let  him  guess  it, 
but  I  am  afraid  she  was  very  fond  of—or,  if  that  is 
a  foolish  phrase,  deeply  attached  to — Kobert  Koy. 
He  had  been  so  good  to  her,  at  once  strong  and 
tender,  chivalrous,  respectful,  and  kind;  and  she 
had  no  father,  no  brother,  no  other  man  at  all  to 
judge  him  by,  except  the  accidental  men  whom 


24:  THE  LAUEEL  BUSH. 

she  had  met  in  society,  creatures  on  two  legs  who 
wore  coats  and  trousers,  who  had  been  civil  to  her, 
as  she  to  them,  but  who  had  never  interested  her 
in  the  smallest  degree,  perhaps  because  she  knew 
so  little  of  them.  But  no,  it  would  have  been  just 
the  same  had  she  known  them  a  thousand  years. 
She  was  not  "a  man's  woman,"  that  is,  one  of 
those  women  who  feel  interested  in  any  thing  in 
the  shape  of  a  man,  and  make  men  interested  in 
them  accordingly,  for  the  root  of  much  masculine 
affection  is  pure  vanity.  That  celebrated  Scotch 
song— 

"Come  deaf,  or  come  blind,  or  come  cripple, 

O  come  ony  ane  o'  them  a' ! 
Far  better  be  married  to  something 
Than  no  to  be  married  ava," 

was  a  rhyme  that  would  never  have  touched  the 
stony  heart  of  Fortune  Williams.  And  yet,  let  me 
own  it  once  more,  she  was  very,  very  fond  of  Kob- 
ert  Eoy.  He  had  never  spoken  to  her  one  word 
of  love — actual  love,  no  more  than  he  spoke  now, 
as  they  stood  side  by  side,  looking  with  the  same 
eyes  upon  the  same  scene.  I  say  the  same  eyes, 
for  they  were  exceedingly  alike  in  their  tastes. 


AN   OLD-FASHIONED   LOVE   STOKY.  25 

There  was  no  need  ever  to  go  into  long  explana- 
tions about  this  or  that ;  a  glance  sufficed,  or  a 
word,  to  show  each  what  the  other  enjoyed ;  and 
both  had  the  quiet  conviction  that  they  were  en- 
joying it  together.  Now,  as  that  sweet,  still,  sun- 
shiny view  met  their  mutual  gaze,  they  fell  into  no 
poetical  raptures,  but  just  stood  and  looked,  taking 
it  all  in  with  exceeding  pleasure,  as  they  had  done 
many  and  many  a  time,  but  never,  it  seemed,  so 
perfectly  as  now. 

"  What  a  lovely  afternoon  1"  she  said  at  last. 

"Yes.  It  is  a  pity  to  waste  it.  Have  you 
any  thing  special  to  do?  What  did  you  mean 
to  employ  yourself  with,  now  your  birds  are 
flown?" 

"  Oh,  I  can  always  find  something  to  do." 

"But  need  you  find  it?  We  both  work  so  hard. 
If  we  could  only  now  and  then  have  a  little  bit  of 
pleasure !" 

He  put  it  so  simply,  yet  almost  with  a  sigh. 
This  poor  girl's  heart  responded  to  it  suddenly, 
wildly.  She  was  only  twenty-five,  yet  sometimes 
she  felt  quite  old,  or,  rather,  as  if  she  had  never 
been  young.  The  constant  teaching,  teaching  of 


26  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

rough  boys  too  (for  she  had  had  the  whole  four 
till  Mr.  Koy  took  the  two  elder  off  her  hands),  the 
necessity  of  grinding  hard  out  of  school -hours  to 
keep  herself  up  in  Latin,  Euclid,  and  other  branch- 
es which  do  not  usually  form  part  of  a  feminine 
education,  only,  having  a  great  natural  love  of 
work,  she  had  taught  herself — all  these  things 
combined  to  make  her  life  a  dull  life,  a  hard  life, 
till  Kobert  Eoy  came  into  it.  And  sometimes  even 
now  the  desperate  craving  to  enjoy — not  only  to 
endure,  but  to  enjoy — to  take  a  little  of  the  natural 
pleasures  of  her  age — came  to  the  poor  governess 
very  sorely,  especially  on  days  such  as  this,  when 
all  the  outward  world  looked  so  gay,  so  idle,  and 
she  worked  so  hard. 

So  did  Kobert  Koy.  Life  was  not  easier  to  him 
than  to  herself;  she  knew  that;  and  when  he  said, 
half  joking,  as  if  he  wanted  to  feel  his  way,  "Let 
us  imitate  our  boys,  and  take  a  half-holiday,"  she 
only  laughed,  but  did  not  refuse. 

How  could  she  refuse?  There  were  the  long, 
smooth  sands  on  either  side  the  Eden,  stretching 
away  into  indefinite  distance,  with  not  a  human 
being  upon  them  to  break  their  loneliness;  or  if 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE   STOKY.  27 

there  was,  he  or  she  looked  mere  dots,  not  human 
at  all.  Even  if  these  two  had  been  afraid  of  being 
seen  walking  together — which  they  hardly  were, 
being  too  unimportant  for  any  one  to  care  whether 
they  were  friends  or  lovers,  or  what  not — there 
was  nobody  to  see  them,  except  in  the  character 
of  two  black  dots  on  the  yellow  sands. 

"It  is  low  water ;  suppose  we  go  and  look  for 
sea  anemones.  One  of  my  pupils  wants  some,  and 
I  promised  to  try  and  find  one  the  first  spare  hour 
I  had." 

"But  we  shall  not  find  anemones  on  the  sands." 

"Shells,  then,  you  practical  woman!  We'll 
gather  shells.  It  will  be  all  the  same  to  that  poor 
invalid  boy — and  to  me,"  added  he,  with  that  in- 
voluntary sigh  which  she  had  noticed  more  than 
once,  and  which  had  begun  to  strike  on  her  ears 
not  quite  painfully.  Sighs,  when  we  are  young, 
mean  differently  from  what  they  do  in  after-years. 
"  I  don't  care  very  much  where  I  go,  or  what  I 
do ;  I  only  want — well,  to  be  happy  for  an  hour, 
if  Providence  will  let  me." 

"Why  should  not  Providence  let  you?"  said 
Fortune,  gently.     "  Few  people  deserve  it  more." 
2 


28  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

"  You  are  kind  to  think  so,  but  you  are  always 
kind  to  every  body." 

By  this  time  they  had  left  their  position  by  the 
laurel  bush,  and  were  walking  along  side  by  side, 
according  as  he  had  suggested.  This  silent,  in- 
stinctive acquiescence  in  what  he  wished  done — it 
had  happened  once  or  twice  before — startled  her  a 
little  at  herself;  for,  as  I  have  said,  Miss  Williams 
was  not  at  all  the  kind  of  person  to  do  every  thing 
that  every  body  asked  her,  without  considering 
whether  it  was  right  or  wrong.  She  could  obey, 
but  it  would  depend  entirely  upon  whom  she  had 
to  obey;  which,  indeed,  makes  the  sole  difference 
between  loving  disciples  and  slavish  fools. 

It  was  a  lovely  day,  one  of  those  serene  autumn 
days  peculiar  to  Scotland — I  was.  going  to  say  to 
St  Andrews  ;  and  any  one  who  knows  the  ancient 
city  will  know  exactly  how  it  looks  in  the  still, 
strongly  spiritualized  light  of  such  an  afternoon, 
with  the  ruins,  the  castle,  cathedral,  and  St.  Keg- 
ulus's  tower  standing  out  sharply  against  the  in- 
tensely blue  sky ;  and  on  the  other  side — on  both 
sides — the  yellow  sweep  of  sand  curving  away  into 
distance,  and  melting  into  the  sunshiny  sea. 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STOKY.  29 

Many  a  time,  in  their  prescribed  walks  with  their 
young  tribe,  Miss  Williams  and  Mr.  Eoy  had  taken 
this  stroll  across  the  Links  and  round  by  the  sands 
to  the  mouth  of  the  Eden,  leaving  behind  them  a 
long  and  sinuous  track  of  many  footsteps,  little  and 
large  ;  but  now  there  were  only  two  lines — "  foot- 
prints on  the  sands  of  Time,"  as  he  jestingly  called 
them,  turning  round  and  pointing  to  the  marks  of 
the  dainty  feet  that  walked  so  steadily  and  straight- 
ly  beside  his  own. 

"  They  seem  made  to  go  together,  those  two 
tracks,"  said  he. 

Why  did  he  say  it  ?  Was  he  the  kind  of  man 
to  talk  thus  without  meaning  it  ?  If  so,  alas !  she 
was  not  exactly  the  woman  to  be  thus  talked  to. 
Nothing  fell  on  her  lightly.  Perhaps  it  was  her 
misfortune,  perhaps  even  her  fault;  but  so  it 
was. 

Kobert  Eoy  did  not  "make  love;"  not  at  all. 
Possibly  he  never  could  have  done  it,  in  the  ordi- 
nary way.  Sweet  things,  polite  things,  were  very 
difficult  to  him,  either  to  do  or  to  say.  Even  the 
tenderness  that  was  in  him  came  out  as  if  by  ac- 
cident ;  but,  oh,  how  infinitely  tender  he  could  be ! 


30  THE  LAUKEL  BUSH. 

Enough  to  make  any  one  who  loved  him  die  easi- 
ly, quietly,  contentedly,  if  only  just  holding  his 
hand. 

There  is  an  incident  in  Dickens's  touching  "  Tale 
of  Two  Cities,"  where  a  young  man,  going  innocent 
to  the  guillotine,  and  riding  on  the  death-cart  with 
a  young  girl  whom  he  had  never  before  seen,  is 
able  to  sustain  and  comfort  her,  even  to  the  last 
awful  moment,  by  the  look  of  his  face  and  the 
clasp  of  his  hand.  That  man,  I  have  often 
thought,  must  have  been  something  not  unlike 
Robert  Roy. 

Such  men  are  rare,  but  they  do  exist ;  and  it  was 
Fortune's  lot,  or  she  believed  it  was,  to  have  found 
one.  That  was  enough.  She  went  along  the  shin- 
ing sands  in  a  dream  of  perfect  content,  perfect 
happiness,  thinking — and  was  it  strange  or  wrong 
that  she  should  so  think? — that  if  it  were  God's 
will  she  should  thus  walk  through  life,  the  thorni- 
est path  would  seem  smooth,  the  hardest  road  easy. 
She  had  no  fear  of  life,  if  lived  beside  him ;  or  of 
death — love  is  stronger  than  death;  at  least  this 
sort  of  love,  of  which  only  strong  natures  are  capa- 
ble, and  out  of  which  are  made,  not  the  lyrics  per- 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  31 

haps,  but  the  epics,  the  psalms,  or  the  tragedies  of 
our  mortal  existence. 

I  have  explained  thus  mucli  about  these  two 
friends — lovers  that  may  be,  or  might  have  been — 
because  they  never  would  have  done  it  themselves. 
Neither  was  given  to  much  speaking.  Indeed,  I 
fear  their  conversation  this  day,  if  recorded,  would 
have  been  of  the  most  feeble  kind — brief,  frag- 
mentary, mere  comments  on  the  things  about  them, 
or  abstract  remarks  not  particularly  clever  or  brill- 
iant. They  were  neither  of  them  what  you  would 
call  brilliant  people ;  yet  they  were  happy,  and  the 
hours  flew  by  like  a  few  minutes,  until  they  found 
themselves  back  again  beside  the  laurel  bush  at  the 
gate,  when  Mr.  Eoy  suddenly  said : 

"Do  not  go  in  yet.  I  mean,  need  you  go  in? 
It  is  scarcely  past  sunset;  the  boys  will  not  be 
home  for  an  hour,  they  don't  want  you,  and  I — 
I  want  you  so.  In  your  English  sense,"  he  add- 
ed with  a  laugh,  referring  to  one  of  their  many  ar- 
guments, scholastic  or  otherwise,  wherein  she  had 
insisted  that  to  want  meant,  Anglic^  to  wish,  or  to 
crave,  whereas  in  Scotland  it  was  always  used  like 
the  French  wander,  to  miss,  or  to  need. 


32  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

"  Shall  we  begin  that  fight  over  again  ?"  asked 
she,  smiling;  for  every  thing,  even  fighting,  seem- 
ed pleasant  to-day. 

"  No,  I  have  no  wish  to  fight ;  I  want  to  consult 
you,  seriously,  on  a  purely  personal  matter,  if  you 
would  not  mind  taking  that  trouble." 

Fortune  looked  sorry.  That  was  one  of  the  bad 
things  in  him  (the  best  men  alive  have  their  bad 
things),  the  pride  which  apes  humility,  the  self-dis- 
trust which  often  wounds  another  so  keenly.  Her 
answer  was  given  with  a  grave  and  simple  sinceri- 
ty that  ought  to  have  been  reproach  enough. 

"  Mr.  Eoy,  I  would  not  mind  any  amount  of 
trouble  if  I  could  be  of  use  to  you ;  you  know 
that." 

"Forgive  me!  Yes,  I  do  know  it.  I  believe 
in  you  and  your  goodness  to  the  very  bottom  of 
my  heart." 

She  tried  to  say  "  Thank  you,"  but  her  lips  re- 
fused to  utter  a  word.  It  was  so  difficult  to  go  on 
talking  like  ordinary  friends,  when  she  knew,  and 
he  must  know  she  knew,  that  one  word  more 
would  make  them — not  friends  at  all — something 
infinitely  better,  closer,  dearer ;  but  that  word  was 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  33 

his  to  speak,  not  hers.  There  are  women  who  will 
"  help  a  man  on  " — propose  to  him,  marry  him  in- 
deed— while  he  is  under  the  pleasing  delusion  that 
he  does  it  all  himself;  but  Fortune  Williams  was 
not  one  of  these.  She  remained  silent  and  passive, 
waiting  for  the  next  thing  he  should  say.  It  came  : 
something  the  shock  of  which  she  never  forgot  as 
long  as  she  lived ;  and  he  said  it  with  his  eyes  on 
her  face,  so  that  if  it  killed  her  she  must  keep  quiet 
and  composed,  as  she  did. 

"You  know  the  boys'  lessons  end  next  week. 
The  week  after  I  go  —  that  is,  I  have  almost  de- 
cided to  go,  to  India." 

"To  India!" 

"  Yes.  For  which,  no  doubt,  you  think  me  very 
changeable,  having  said  so  often  that  I  meant  to 
keep  to  a  scholar's  life,  and  be  a  professor  one  day 
perhaps,  if  by  any  means  I  could  get  salt  to  my 
porridge.  Well,  now  I  am  not  satisfied  with  salt 
to  my  porridge;  I  wish  to  get  rich." 

She  did  not  say  "  Why  ?"  She  thought  she  had 
not  looked  it ;  but  he  answered,  "  Never  mind  why. 
I  do  wish  it,  and  I  will  be  rich  yet,  if  I  can.  Are 
you  very  much  surprised  ?" 


34:  THE  LAUKEL  BUSH. 

Surprised  she  certainly  was,  but  she  answered, 
honestly,  "  Indeed,  you  are  the  last  person  I  should 
suspect  of  being  worldly-minded." 

"Thank  you;  that  is  kind.  No,  just;  merely 
just.  One  ought  to  have  faith  in  people;  it  does 
one  good.  I  am  afraid  my  own  deficiency  is  want 
of  faith.  It  takes  so  much  to  make  me  believe  for 
a  moment  that  any  one  cares  for  me." 

How  hard  it  was  to  be  silent — harder  still  to 
speak !  But  she  did  speak. 

"I  can  understand  that;  I  have  often  felt  the 
same.  It  is  the  natural  consequence  of  a  very 
lonely  life.  If  you  and  I  had  had  fathers  and 
mothers  and  brothers  and  sisters,  we  might  have 
been  different." 

"Perhaps  so.  But  about  India.  For  a  long 
time — that  is,  for  many  weeks — I  have  been  cast- 
ing about  in  my  mind  how  to  change  my  way  of 
life — to  look  out  for  something  that  would  help 
me  to  earn  money,  and  quickly ;  but  there  seemed 
no  chance  whatever.  Until,  suddenly,  one  has 
opened." 

And  then  he  explained  how  the  father  of  one  of 
his  pupils,  grateful  for  certain  benefits,  which  Mr. 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  35 

Eoy  did  not  specify,  and  noticing  certain  business 
qualities  in  him — "  which  I  suppose  I  have,  though 
I  didn't  know  it,"  added  he,  with  a  smile — had  of- 
fered him  a  situation  in  a  merchant's  office  at  Cal- 
cutta :  a  position  of  great  trust  and  responsibility, 
for  three  years  certain,  with  the  option  of  then  giv- 
ing it  up  or  continuing  it. 

"And  continuing  means  making  a  fortune. 
Even  three  years  means  making  something,  with 
my  'stingy'  habits.  Only  I  must  go  at  once. 
Nor  is  there  any  time  left  me  for  my  decision;  it 
must  be  yes  or  no.  Which  shall  it  be  ?" 

The  sudden  appeal — made,  too,  as  if  he  thought 
it  was  nothing — that  terrible  yes  or  no,  which  to 
her  made  all  the  difference  of  living  or  only  half 
living,  of  feeling  the  sun  in  or  out  of  the  world. 
What  could  she  answer?  Trembling  violently, 
she  yet  answered  in  a  steady  voice.  "  You  must 
decide  for  yourself.  A  woman  can  not  understand 
a  man." 

"Nor  a  man  a  woman,  thoroughly.  There  is 
only  one  thing  which  helps  both  to  comprehend 
one  another." 

One  thing!  she  knew  what  it  was.     Surely  so 
2* 


36  THE  LAUKEL  BUSH. 

did  he.  But  that  strange  distrustfulness  of  which 
he  had  spoken,  or  the  hesitation  which  the  strong- 
est and  bravest  men  have  at  times,  came  between. 

"  Oh,  the  little  more,  and  how  much  it  is ! 
Oh,  the  little  less,  and  what  worlds  away!" 

If,  instead  of  looking  vaguely  out  upon  the  sea,  he 
had  looked  into  this  poor  girl's  face;  if,  instead 
of  keeping  silence,  he  had  only  spoken  one  word  I 
But  he  neither  looked  nor  spoke,  and  the  moment 
passed  by.  And  there  are  moments  which  people 
would  sometimes  give  a  whole  life-time  to  recall, 
and  use  differently ;  but  in  vain. 

"My  engagement  is  only  for  three  years,"  he  re- 
sumed ;  "  and  then,  if  alive,  I  mean  to  come  back. 
Dead  or  alive,  I  was  going  to  say,  but  you  would 
not  care  to  see  my  ghost,  I  presume  ?  I  beg  your 
pardon,  I  ought  not  to  make  a  joke  of  such  serious 
things." 

"  No,  you  ought  not." 

She  felt  herself  almost  speechless,  that  in  another 
minute  she  might  burst  into  sobs.  He  saw  it — at 
least,  he  saw  a  very  little  of  it,  and  misinterpreted 
the  rest. 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE   STORY.  37 

"  I  have  tired  you.  Take  my  arm.  You  will 
soon  be  at  home  now."  Then,  after  a  pause, 
"You  will  not  be  displeased  at  any  thing  I  have 
said  ?  We  part  friends  ?  No,  we  do  not  part ;  I 
shall  see  you  every  day  for  a  week,  and  be  able  to 
tell  you  all  particulars  of  my  journey,  if  you  care 
to  hear." 

"  Thank  you,  yes — I  do  care." 

They  stood  together,  arm-in-arm.  The  dews 
were  falling ;  a  sweet,  soft,  lilac  haze  had  begun 
to  creep  over  the  sea — the  solemn,  far-away  sea, 
that  he  was  so  soon  to  cross.  Involuntarily,  she 
clung  to  his  arm.  So  near,  yet  so  apart !  Why 
must  it  be?  She  could  have  borne  his  going 
away,  if  it  was  for  his  good,  if  he  wished  it ;  and 
something  whispered  to  her  that  this  sudden  de- 
sire to  get  rich  was  not  for  himself  alone.  But, 
oh,  if  he  would  only  speak !  One  word — one  lit- 
tle word !  After  that,  any  thing  might  come — the 
separation  of  life,  the  bitterness  of  death.  To  the 
two  hearts  that  had  once  opened,  each  to  each,  in 
the  full  recognition  of  mutual  love,  there  could 
never  more  be  any  real  parting. 

But  that  one  word  he  did  not  say.     He  only 


38  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

took  the  little  hand  that  lay  on  his  arm,  pressed  it, 
and  held  it — years  after,  the  feeling  of  that  clasp 
was  as  fresh  on  her  fingers  as  yesterday — then, 
hearing  the  foot  of  some  accidental  passer-by,  he 
let  it  go,  and  did  not  take  it  again. 

Just  at  this  moment,  the  sound  of  distant  car- 
riage-wheels was  heard. 

"  That  must  be  Mrs.  Dalziel  and  the  boys." 

"  Then  I  had  better  go.     Good-bye." 

The  day-dream  was  over.  It  had  all  come  back 
again — the  forlorn,  dreary,  hard-working  world. 

"  Good-bye,  Mr.  Koy."    And  they  shook  hands. 

"  One  word,"  he  said,  hastily ;  "  I  shall  write  to 
you — you  will  allow  me? — and  I  shall  see  you 
several  times,  a  good  many  times,  before  I  go  ?" 

"I  hope  so." 

"  Then,  for  the  present,  good-bye.  That  means," 
he  added,  earnestly,  "  'God  be  with  you!'  And  I 
know  He  always  will." 

In  another  minute  Fortune  found  herself  stand- 
ing beside  the  laurel  bush,  alone,  listening  to  the 
sound  of  Mr.  Boy's  footsteps  down  the  road — list- 
ening, listening,  as  if,  with  the  exceeding  tension, 
her  brain  would  burst. 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  39 

The  carriage  came,  passed ;  it  was  not  Mrs.  Dal- 
ziel's,  after  all.  She  thought  he  might  discover 
this,  and  come  back  again  ;  so  she  waited  a  little — 
five  minutes,  ten — beside  the  laurel  bush.  But  he 
did  not  come.  No  footstep,  no  voice ;  nothing  but 
the  faint,  far-away  sound  of  the  long  waves  wash- 
ing in  upon  the  sands. 

It  was  not  the  brain  that  felt  like  to  burst  now, 
but  the  heart.  She  clasped  her  hands  above  her 
head.  It  did  not  matter ;  there  was  no  creature  to 
see  or  hear  that  appeal — was  it  to  man  or  God  ? — 
that  wild,  broken  sob,  so  contrary  to  her  usual  self- 
controlled  and  self-contained  nature.  And  then 
she  leaned  her  forehead  against  the  gate,  just  where 
Kobert  Eoy  had  accidentally  laid  his  hand  in  open- 
ing it,  and  wept  bitterly. 


40  THE   LAUREL  BUSH. 


CHAPTER  II 

fTTHE  "every  day"  on  which  Mr.  Roy  had  reck- 
oned  for  seeing  his  friend,  or  whatsoever  else 
he  considered  Miss  Williams  to  be,  proved  a  failure. 
Her  youngest  pupil  fell  ill,  and  she  was  kept  be- 
side him,  and  away  from  the  school-room,  until  the 
doctor  could  decide  whether  the  illness  was  infec- 
tious or  not.  It  turned  out  to  be  very  trifling — a 
most  trivial  thing  altogether,  yet  weighted  with  a 
pain  most  difficult  to  bear,  a  sense  of  fatality  that 
almost  overwhelmed  one  person  at  least.  What 
the  other  felt,  she  did  not  know.  He  came  daily, 
as  usual ;  she  watched  him  come  and  go,  and  some- 
times he  turned  and  they  exchanged  a  greeting 
from  the  window.  But  beyond  that  she  had  to 
take  all  passively.  What  could  she,  only  a  wom- 
an, do  or  say  or  plan?  Nothing.  Women's  bus- 
iness is  to  sit  down  and  endure. 

She  had  counted  these  days — Tuesday,  Wednes- 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE   STORY.  41 

day,  Thursday,  Friday,  Saturday — as  if  they  had 
been  years.  And  now  they  were  all  gone ;  had 
fled  like  minutes — fled  emptily  away.  A  few 
fragmentary  facts  she  had  had  to  feed  on,  commu- 
nicated by  the  boys  in  their  rough  talk. 

"  Mr.  Eoy  was  rather  cross  to-day." 

"  Not  cross,  Dick — only  dull." 

"Mr.  Koy  asked  why  David  did  not  come  in  to 
lessons,  and  said  he  hoped  he  would  be  better  by 
"Saturday." 

"  Mr.  Eoy  said  good-bye  to  us  all,  and  gave  us 
each  something  to  remember  him  by  when  he  was 
out  in  India.  Did  Miss  Williams  know  he  was  go- 
ing out  to  India?  Oh,  how  jolly !" 

"  Yes,  and  he  sails  next  week,  and  the  name  of 
his  ship  is  the  Queen  of  the  South,  and  he  goes  by 
Liverpool  instead  of  Southampton,  because  it  costs 
less ;  and  he  leaves  St.  Andrews  on  Monday  morn- 
ing." 

"Are  you  sure  he  said  Monday  morning?"  For 
that  was  Saturday  night. 

"  Certain,  because  he  has  to  get  his  outfit  still. 
Oh,  what  fun  it  must  be !" 

And  the  boys  went  on,  greatly  excited,  repeat- 


4:2  THE   LAUEEL   BUSH. 

ing  every  thing  Mr.  Eoy  had  told  them — for  he 
had  made  them  fond  of  him,  even  in  those  few 
months — expatiating  with  delight  on  his  future 
career,  as  a  merchant  or  something,  they  did  not 
quite  know  what ;  but,  no  doubt,  it  would  be  far 
nicer  and  more  amusing  than  stopping  at  home 
and  grinding  forever  over  horrid  books.  Didn't 
Miss  Williams  think  so? 

Miss  Williams  only  smiled.  She  knew  how  all 
his  life  he  had  loved  "  those  horrid  books,"  prefer- 
ring them  to  pleasure,  recreation,  almost  to  daily 
bread ;  how  he  had  lived  on  the  hope  that  one  day 
he — born  only  a  farmer's  son — might  do  some- 
thing, write  something.  "I  also  am  of  Arcadia." 
He  might  have  done  it  or  not — the  genius  may  or 
may  not  have  been  there ;  but  the  ambition  certain- 
ly was.  Could  he  have  thrown  it  all  aside  ?  And 
why? 

Not  for  mere  love  of  money ;  she  knew  him  too 
well  for  that.  He  was  a  thorough  book-worm,  sim- 
ple in  all  his  tastes  and  habits — simple  almost  to 
penuriousness ;  but  it  was  a  penuriousness  born  of 
hard  fortunes,  and  he  never  allowed  it  to  affect  any 
body  but  himself.  Still,  there  was  no  doubt  he 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE   STORY.  43 

did  not  care  for  money,  or  luxury,  or  worldly  posi- 
tion— any  of  the  things  that  lesser  men  count  large 
enough  to  work  and  struggle  and  die  for.  To  give 
up  the  pursuits  he  loved,  deliberately  to  choose 
others,  to  change  his  whole  life  thus,  and  expatri- 
ate himself,  as  it  were,  for  years — perhaps  for  al- 
ways— why  did  he  do  it,  or  for  whom  ? 

Was  it  for  a  woman  ?  Was  it  for  her?  If  ever, 
in  those  long,  empty  days  and  wakeful  nights,  this 
last  thought  entered  Fortune's  mind,  she  stifled  it 
as  something  which,  once  to  have  fully  believed, 
and  then  disbelieved,  would  have  killed  her. 

That  she  should  have  done  the  like  for  him — 
that  or  any  thing  else,  involving  any  amount  of 
heroism  or  self-sacrifice — well,  it  was  natural,  right; 
but  that  he  should  do  it  for  her?  That  he"  should 
change  his  whole  purpose  of  life  that  he  might  be 
able  to  marry  quickly,  to  shelter  in  his  bosom  a 
poor  girl  who  was  not  able  to  fight  the  world  as  a 
man  could,  the  thing — not  so  very  impossible,  aft- 
er all — seemed  to  her  almost  incredible !  And  yet 
(I  am  telling  a  mere  love  story,  remember — a  fool- 
ish, innocent  love  story,  without  apologizing  for 
either  the  folly  or  the  innocence)  sometimes  she 


44  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

was  so  far  "left  to  herself,"  as  the  Scotch  say,  that 
she  did  believe  it  In  the  still  twilights,  in  the 
wakeful  nights,  in  the  one  solitary  half-hour  of  in- 
tense relief,  when,  all  her  boys  being  safe  in  bed, 
she  rushed  out  into  the  garden  under  the  silent 
stars  to  sob,  to  moan,  to  speak  out  loud  words 
which  nobody  could  possibly  hear. 

"  He  is  going  away,  and  I  shall  never  see  him 
again.  And  I  love  him — love  him  better  than 
any  thing  in  all  this  world.  I  couldn't  help  it — he 
couldn't  help  it.  But  oh,  it's  hard — hard !" 

And  then,  altogether  breaking  down,  she  would 
begin  to  cry  like  a  child.  She  missed  him  so,  even 
this  week,  after  having  for  weeks  and  months  been 
with  him  every  day;  but  it  was  less  like  a  girl 
missing  her  lover — who  was,  after  all,  not  her 
lover — than  a  child  mourning  helplessly  /or  the 
familiar  voice,  the  guiding,  helpful  hand.  With  all 
the  rest  of  the  world  Fortune  Williams  was  an  in- 
dependent, energetic  woman — self-contained,  brave, 
and  strong,  as  a  solitary  governess  had  need  to  be ; 
but  beside  Eobert  Eoy  she  felt  like  a  child,  and  she 
cried  for  him  like  a  child. 

"And  with  no  language  but  a  cry." 


AN"  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE   STORY.  45 

So  the  week  ended  and  Sunday  came,  kept  at 
Mrs.  Dalziel's  like  the  Scotch  Sundays  of  twenty 
years  ago.  No  visitor  ever  entered  the  house, 
wherein  all  the  meals  were  cold  and  the  blinds 
drawn  down,  as  if  for  a  funeral.  The  family  went 
to  church  for  the  entire  day,  St.  Andrews  being  too 
far  off  for  any  return  home  "between  sermons." 
Usually  one  servant  was  left  in  charge,  turn  and 
turn  about ;  but  this  Sunday,  Mrs.  Dalziel,  having 
put  the  governess  in  the  nurse's  place  beside  the 
ailing  child,  thought  shrewdly  she  might  as  well 
put  her  in  the  servant's  place  too,  and  let  her  take 
charge  of  the  kitchen  fire,  as  well  as  of  little  David. 
Being  English,  Miss  Williams  was  not  so  exact 
about  "ordinances"  as  a  Scotchwoman  would  have 
been;  so  Mrs.  Dalziel  had  no  hesitation  in  asking 
her  to  remain  at  home  alone  the  whole  day  in 
charge  of  her  pupil. 

Thus  faded,  Fortune  thought,  her  last  hope  of 
seeing  Eobert  Koy  again,  either  at  church — where 
he  usually  sat  in  the  Dalziel  pew,  by  the  old  lady's 
request,  to  make  the  boys  "behave" — or  walking- 
down  the  street,  where  he  sometimes  took  the  two 
eldest  to  eat  their  "piece"  at  his  lodgings.  All  was 


46  THE   LAUKEL  BUSH. 

now  ended;  yet  on  the  hope — or  dread — of  this 
last  Sunday  she  had  hung,  she  now  felt  with  what 
intensity,  till  it  was  gone. 

Fortune  was  the  kind  of  woman  who,  were  it 
given  her  to  fight,  could  fight  to  the  death,  against 
fate  or  circumstances ;  but  when  her  part  was  sim- 
ply passive,  she  could  also  endure — not,  as  some 
do,  with  angry  grief  or  futile  resistance,  but  with  a 
quiet  patience  so  complete  that  only  a  very  quick 
eye  would  have  found  out  she  was  suffering  at  all. 

Little  David  did  not,  certainly.  When,  hour  aft- 
er hour,  she  sat  by  his  sofa,  interesting  him  as  best 
she  could  in  the  dull  "good"  books  which  alone 
were  allowed  of  Sundays,  and  then  passing  into 
word-of-mouth  stories — the  beautiful  Bible  stories 
over  which  her  own  voice  trembled  while  she  told 
them — Kuth,  with  her  piteous  cry,  "  Whither  thou 
goest,  I  will  go ;  where  thou  diest,  I  will  die,  and 
there  will  I  be  buried;"  Jonathan,  whose  soul 
"clave  to  the  soul  of  David,  and  Jonathan  loved 
him  as  his  own  soul" — all  those  histories  of  pas- 
sionate fidelity  and  agonized  parting  (for  every 
sort  of  love  is  essentially  the  same),  how  they  went 
to  her  very  heart ! 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  47 

Oh,  the  awful  quietness  of  that  Sunday — that 
Sabbath  which  was  not  rest,  in  which  the  hours 
crawled  on  in  sunshiny  stillness,  neither  voices  nor 
steps  nor  sounds  of  any  kind,  breaking  the  death- 
like hush  of  every  thing !  At  length  the  boy  fell 
asleep ;  and  then  Fortune  seemed  to  wake  up,  for 
the  first  time,  to  the  full  consciousness  of  what  was, 
and  what  was  about  to  be. 

All  of  a  sudden  she  heard  steps  on  the  gravel 
below,  then  the  hall  bell  rang  through  the  silent 
house.  She  knew  who  it  was,  even  before  she 
opened  the  door,  and  saw  him  standing  there. 

"  May  I  come  in  ?  They  told  me  you  were  keep- 
ing house  alone,  and  I  said  I  should  just  walk  over 
to  bid  you  and  Davie  good-bye." 

Koy's  manner  was  grave  and  matter-of-fact — a 
little  constrained  perhaps,  but  not  much — and  he 
looked  so  exceedingly  pale  and  tired  that  without 
any  hesitation  she  took  him  into  the  school-room 
where  they  were  sitting,  and  gave  him  the  arm- 
chair by  Davie's  sofa. 

"Yes,  I  own  to  being  rather  overdone.  I  have 
had  so  much  to  arrange,  for  I  must  leave  here  to- 
morrow, as  I  think  you  know." 


48  THE  LAUEEL  BUSH. 

"  The  boys  told  me." 

"  I  thought  they  would.  I  should  have  done  it 
myself,  but  every  day  I  hoped  to  see  you.  It  was 
this  little  fellow's  fault,  I  suppose  "  (patting  David's 
head).  "  He  seems  quite  well  now,  and  as  jolly  as 
possible.  You  don't  know  what  it  is  to  say  c  good- 
bye,' David,  my  son." 

Mr.  Koy,  who  always  got  on  well  with  children, 
had  a  trick  of  calling  his  younger  pupils  "  my  son." 

"Why  do  you  say  'good-bye'  at  all,  then?" 
asked  the  child,  a  mischievous  but  winning  young 
scamp  of  six  or  seven,  who  had  as  many  tricks  as 
a  monkey  or  a  magpie.  In  fact,  in  chattering  and 
hiding  things,  he  was  nearly  as  bad  as  a  magpie — 
the  torment  of  his  governess's  life;  and  yet  she 
was  fond  of  him.  "  Why  do  you  bid  us  good-bye, 
Mr.  Roy  ?  Why  don't  you  stay  always  with  Miss 
Williams  and  me?' 

"I  wish  to  God  I  could!" 

She  heard  that,  heard  it  distinctly,  though  it  was 
spoken  beneath  his  breath ;  and  she  felt  the  look 
turned  for  one  moment  upon  her  as  she  stood  by 
the  window.  She  never  forgot  either — never,  as 
long  as  she  lived.  Some  words,  some  looks,  can 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  49 

deceive,  perhaps  quite  unconsciously,  by  being 
either  more  demonstrative  than  was  meant,  or  the 
exaggeration  of  coldness  to  hide  its  opposite ;  but 
sometimes  a  glance,  a  tone,  betrays,  or  rather  re- 
veals, the  real  truth  in  a  manner  that  nothing  after- 
ward can  ever  falsify.  For  one  instant,  one  instant* 
only,  Fortune  felt  sure,  quite  sure,  that  in  some 
way  or  other  she  was  very  dear  to  Kobert  Eoy. 
If  the  next  minute  he  had  taken  her  into  his  arms, 
and  said,  or  looked,  the  words  which,  to  an  earnest- 
minded,  sincere  man  like  him,  constitute  a  pledge 
for  life,  never  to  be  disannulled  or  denied,  she  could 
hardly  have  felt  more  completely  his  own. 

But  he  did  not  say  them ;  he  said  nothing  at  all ; 
sat  leaning  his  head  on  his  hand,  with  an  expres- 
sion so  weary,  so  sad,  that  all  the  coaxing  ways  of 
little  Davie  could  hardly  win  from  him  more  than 
a  faint  smile.  He  looked  so  old  too,  and  he  was 
but  just  thirty.  Only  thirty — only  twenty -five; 
and  yet  these  two  were  bearing,  seemed  to  have 
borne  for  years,  the  burden  of  life ;  feeling  all  its 
hardships  and  none  of  its  sweetnesses.  Would 
things  ever  change?  Would  he  have  the  courage 
(it  was  his  part,  not  hers)  to  make  them  change, 


50  THE   LAUKEL  BUSH. 

at  least  in  one  way,  by  bringing  about  that  heart 
union  which  to  all  pure  and  true  natures  is  con- 
solation for  every  human  woe  ? 

"I  wonder,"  he  said,  sitting  down  and  taking 
David  on  his  knee,  "I  wonder  if  it  is  best  to  bear 
things  one's  self,  or  to  let  another  share  the  bur- 
den?" 

Easily,  oh,  how  easily !  could  Fortune  have  an- 
swered this — have  told  him  that,  whether  he  wish- 
ed it  or  not,,  two  did  really  bear  his  burdens,  and 
perhaps  the  one  who  bore  it  secretly  and  silently 
had  not  the  lightest  share.  But  she  did  not  speak: 
it  was  not  possible. 

"How  shall  I  hear  of  you,  Miss  Williams?"  he 
said  again,  after  a  long  silence.  "  You  are  not  like- 
ly to  leave  the  Dalziel  family  ?" 

"  No,"  she  answered ;  "  and  if  I  did,  I  could  al- 
ways be  heard  of,  the  Dalziels  are  so  well  known 
hereabouts.  Still,  a  poor  wandering  governess  eas- 
ily drops  out  of  people's  memory." 

"And  a  poor  wandering  tutor  too.  But  I  am 
not  a  tutor  any  more,  and  I  hope  I  shall  not  be 
poor  long.  Friends  can  not  lose  one  another ;  such 
friends  as  you  and  I  have  been.  I  will  take  care 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   LOVE  STORY.  51 

we  shall  not  do  it;  that  is,  if—  But  never  mind 
that.  You  have  been  very  good  to  me,  and  I  have 
often  bothered  you  very  much,  I  fear.  You  will 
be  almost  glad  to  get  rid  of  me." 

She  might  have  turned  upon  him  eyes  swimming 
with  tears — woman's  tears — that  engine  of  power 
which  they  say  no  man  can  ever  resist ;  but  I  think, 
if  so,  a  woman  like  Fortune  would  have  scorned  to 
use  it.  Those  poor,  weary  eyes,  which  could  weep 
oceans  alone  under  the  stars,  were  perfectly  dry 
now — dry,  and  fastened  on  the  ground,  as  she  re- 
plied, in  a  grave,  steady  voice, 

"  You  do  not  really  believe  that,  else  you  would 
never  have  said  it." 

Her  composure  must  have  surprised  him,  for  he 
looked  suddenly  up,  then  begged  her  pardon.  "  I 
did  not  hurt  you,  surely  ?  We  must  not  part  with 
the  least  shadow  of  unkindness  between  us." 

"No."  She  offered  her  hand,  and  he  took  it— 
gently,  affectionately,  but  only  affectionately.  The 
one  step  beyond  affection,  which  leads  into  another 
world,  another  life,  he  seemed  determined  not  to 


For  at  least  half  an  hour  he  sat  there  with  Da- 
3 


52  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

vid  on  his  knee,  or  rising  up  restlessly  to  pace  the 
room  with  David  on  his  shoulder;  but  apparently 
not  desiring  the  child's  absence,  rather  wishing 
to  keep  him  as  a  sort  of  barrier."  Against  what  ? 
himself?  And  so  minute  after  minute  slipped  by ; 
and  Miss  Williams,  sitting  in  her  place  by  the  win- 
dow, already  saw,  dotting  the  Links,  group  after 
group  of  the  afternoon  church-goers  wandering 
quietly  home — so  quietly,  so  happily,  fathers  and 
mothers  and  children,  companions  and  friends — for 
whom  was  no  parting  and  no  pain. 

Mr.  Hoy  suddenly  took  out  his  watch.  "I 
must  go  now ;  I  see  I  have  spent  all  but  my  last 
five  minutes.  Good-bye,  David,  my  lad ;  you'll  be 
a  big  man,  may  be,  when  I  see  you  again.  Miss 
Williams  "  (standing  before  her  with  an  expression 
on  his  face  such  as  she  had  never  seen  before), 
"before  I  go  there  was  a  question  I  had  deter- 
mined to  ask  you — a  purely  ethical  question  which 
a  friend  of  mine  has  been  putting  to  me,  and  I 
could  not  answer ;  that  is,  I  could,  from  the  man's 
side,  the  worldly  side.  A  woman  might  think  dif- 
ferently." 

"What  is  it?" 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  53 

"  Simply  this.  If  a  man  has  not  a  half-penny, 
ought  he  to  ask  a  woman  to  share  it  ?  Bather  an 
Irish  way  of  putting  the  matter,"  with  a  laugh,  not 
without  bitterness,  "but  you  understand.  Ought 
he  not  to  wait  till  he  has  at  least  something  to  offer 
besides  himself?  Is  it  not  mean,  selfish,  cowardly, 
to  bind  a  woman  to  all  the  chances  or  mischances 
of  his  lot,  instead  of  fighting  it  out  alone  like  a 
man?  My  friend  thinks  so,  and  I — I  agree  with 
him." 

"  Then  why  did  you  ask  me  ?" 

The  words,  though  low  and  clear,  were  cold  and 
sharp — sharp  with  almost  unbearable  pain.  Ev- 
ery atom  of  pride  in  her  was  roused.  Whether  he 
loved  her,  and  would  not  tell  her  so,  or  loved  some 
other  woman  and  wished  her  to  know  it,  it  was 
all  the  same.  He  was  evidently  determined  to  go 
away  free,  and  leave  her  free ;  and  perhaps  many 
sensible  men  or  women  would  say  he  was  right  in 
so  doing. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  almost  humbly. 
"  I  ought  not  to  have  spoken  of  this  at  all.  I 
ought  just  to  have  said  'good-bye,'  and  nothing 


54  THE   LAUREL   BUSH. 

There  was  on  it  one  ring,  not  very  valuable,  but 
she  always  liked  to  wear  it,  as  it  had  belonged  to 
her  mother.  Eobert  Roy  drew  it  off,  and  put  it 
deliberately  into  his  pocket. 

"Give  me  this.  You  shall  have  it  back  again 
when  I  am  dead  or  you  are  married,  which  ever 
happens  first.  Do  you  understand  ?" 

Putting  David  aside  (indeed,  he  seemed  for  the 
first  time  to  forget  the  boy's  presence),  he  took  her 
by  the  two  hands,  and  looked  down  into  her  face. 
Apparently  he  read  something  there,  something 
which  startled  him,  almost  shocked  him. 

"  God  forgive  me!"  he  muttered,  and  stood  irres- 
olute. 

Irresolution,  alas!  too  late;  for  just  then  all  the 
three  Dalziel  boys  rushed  into  the  house  and  the 
school-room,  followed  by  their  grandmother.  The 
old  lady  looked  a  good  deal  surprised,  perhaps  a 
little  displeased,  from  one  to  the  other. 

Mr.  Roy  perceived  it,  and  recovered  himself  in 
an  instant,  letting  go  Fortune's  hands  and  placing 
himself  in  front  of  her,  between  her  and  Mrs.  Dal- 
ziel. Long  afterward  she  remembered  that  trivial 
act — remembered  it  with  the  tender  gratitude  of 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  55 

the  protected  toward  the  protector,  if  nothing  more. 
"  You  see,  I  came,  as  I  told  you  I  should,  if  possi- 
ble, to  bid  Miss  Williams  good-bye,  and  wee  Davie. 
They  both  kindly  admitted  me,  and  we  have  had 
half  an  hour's  merry  chat,  have  we  not,  Davie? 
Now,  my  man,  good-bye."  He  took  up  the  little 
fellow  and  kissed  him,  then  extended  his  hand. 
"  Good-bye,  Miss  Williams.  I  hope  your  little  pu- 
pils will  value  you  as  you  deserve." 

Then,  with  a  courteous  and  formal  farewell  to 
the  old  lady,  and  a  most  uproarious  one  from  the 
boys,  he  went  to  the  door,  but  turned  round,  saying 
to  the  eldest  boy,  distinctly  and  clearly — though 
she  was  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room,  she  heard, 
and  was  sure  he  meant  her  to  hear,  every  word — 

"By-the-bye,  Archy,  there  is  something  I  was 
about  to  explain  to  Miss  Williams.  Tell  her  I  will 
write  it.  She  is  quite  sure  to  have  a  letter  from 
me  to-morrow — no,  on  Tuesday  morning." 

And  so  he  went  away,  bravely  and  cheerily,  the 
boys  accompanying  him  to  the  gate,  and  shouting 
and  waving  their  hats  to  him  as  he  crossed  the 
Links,  until  their  grandmother  reprovingly  suggest- 
ed that  it  was  Sunday. 


56  THE   LAUKEL  BUSH. 

"But  Mr.  Eoy  does  not  go  off  to  India  every 
Sunday.  Hurra!  I  wish  we  were  all  going  too. 
Three  cheers  for  Mr.  Koy  1" 

"  Mr.  Koy  is  a  very  fine  fellow,  and  I  hope  he 
will  do  well,"  said  Mrs.  Dalziel,  touched  by  their 
enthusiasm;  also  by  some  old  memories,  for,  like 
many  St.  Andrews  folk,  she  was  strongly  linked 
with  India,  and  had  sent  off  one-half  of  her  numer- 
ous family  to  live  or  die  there.  There  was  some- 
thing like  a  tear  in  her  old  eyes,  though  not  for  the 
young  tutor ;  but  it  effectually  kept  her  from  either 
looking  at  or  thinking  of  the  governess.  And  she 
forgot  them  both  immediately.  They  were  merely 
the  tutor  and  the  governess. 

As  for  the  boys,  they  chattered  vehemently  all 
tea-time  about  Mr.  Roy,  and  their  envy  of  the 
"jolly "life  he  was  going  to;  then  their  minds 
turned  to  their  own  affairs,  and  there  was  silence. 

The  kind  of  silence — most  of  us  know  it — when 
any  one  belonging  to  a  household,  or  very  familiar 
there,  goes  away,  on  a  long,  indefinite  absence.  At 
first,  there  is  little  consciousness  of  absence  at  all ; 
we  are  so  constantly  expecting  the  door  to  be  open- 
ed for  the  customary  presence,  that  we  scarcely 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  57 

even  miss  the  known  voice,  or  face,  or  hand.  By- 
and-by,  however,  we  do  miss  it,  and  there  comes 
a  general,  loud,  shallow  lamentation,  which  soon 
cures  itself,  and  implies  an  easy  and  comfortable 
forgetfulness  before  long.  Except  with  some,  or 
possibly  only  one,  who  is,  most  likely,  the  one  who 
has  never  been  heard  to  utter  a  word  of  regret,  or 
seen  to  shed  a  single  tear. 

Miss  Williams,  now  left  sole  mistress  in  the 
school-room,  gave  her  lessons  as  usual  there  that 
Monday  morning,  and  walked  with  all  the  four 
boys  on  the  Links  all  afternoon.  It  was  a  very 
bright  day,  as  beautiful  as  Sunday  had  been,  and 
they  communicated  to  her  the  interesting  facts, 
learned  at  golfing  that  morning,  that  Mr.  Eoy  and 
his  portmanteau  had  been  seen  at  Leuchars,  on  the 
way  to  Burntisland,  and  that  he  would  likely  have 
a  good  crossing,  as  the  sea  was  very  calm.  There 
had  lately  been  some  equinoctial  gales,  which  had 
interested  the  boys  amazingly,  and  they  calculated 
with  ingenious  pertinacity  whether  such  gales  were 
likely  to  occur  again  when  Mr.  Roy  was  in  the  Bay 
of  Bisca}' ;  and  if  his  ship  were  wrecked,  what  he 
would  be  supposed  to  do.  They  were  quite  sure 


58  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

he  would  conduct  himself  with  great  heroism,  per- 
haps escape  on  a  single  plank,  or  a  raft  made  by 
his  own  hands;  and  they  consulted  Miss  Williams, 
who,  of  course,  was  a  peripatetic  cyclopedia  of  all 
scholastic  information,  as  to  which  port  in  France 
or  Spain  he  was  likely  to  be  drifted  to,  supposing 
this  exciting  event  did  happen. 

She  answered  their  questions  with  her  usual 
ready  kindliness.  She  felt  like  a  person  in  a  dream, 
yet  a  not  unhappy  dream,  for  she  still  heard  the 
voice — still  felt  the  clasp  of  the  strong,  tender,  sus- 
taining hands.  And  to-morrow  would  be  Tuesday. 

Tuesday  was  a  wet  morning.  The  bright  days 
were  done.  Soon  after  dawn,  Fortune  had  woke 
up  and  watched  the  sunrise,  till  a  chill  fog  crept 
over  the  sea  and  blotted  it  out;  then  gradually 
blotted  out  the  land  also — the  Links,  the  town,  ev- 
ery thing.  A  regular  St.  Andrews  "haar;"  and 
St.  Andrews  people  know  what  that  is.  Miss  Wil- 
liams had  seen  it  once  or  twice  before,  but  never 
so  bad  as  this ;  blighting,  penetrating,  and  so  dense 
that  you  could  hardly  see  your  hand  before  you. 

But  Fortune  scarcely  felt  it.  She  said  to  her- 
self, "  To-day  is  Tuesday,"  which  meant  nothing  to 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  59 

any  one  else,  every  thing  to  her.  For  she  knew 
the  absolute  faithfulness,  the  careful  accuracy,  in 
great  things  and  small,  with  which  she  had  to  do. 
If  Kobert  Eoy  said,  "  I  will  write  on  such  a  day," 
he  was  as  sure  to  write  as  that  the  day  would 
dawn.  That  is,  so  far  as  his  own  will  went;  and 
will,  not  circumstance,  is  the  strongest  agent  in 
this  world. 

Therefore,  she  waited  quietly  for  the  postman's 
horn.  It  sounded  at  last. 

"I'll  go,"  cried  Archy.  "Just  look  at  the  haar. 
I  shall  have  to  grope  my  way  to  the  gate." 

He  came  back,  after  what  seemed  an  almost  end- 
less time,  rubbing  his  head,  and  declaring  he  had 
nearly  blinded  himself  by  running  right  into  the 
laurel  bush. 

"  I  couldn't  see  for  the  fog.  I  only  hope  I've 
left  none  of  the  letters  behind.  No,  no,  all  right. 
Such  a  lot!  It's  the  Indian  mail.  There's  for  you, 
and  you,  boys."  He  dealt  them  out  with  a  merry, 
careless  hand. 

There  was  no  letter  for  Miss  Williams.  A  cir- 
cumstance so  usual  that  nobody  noticed  it,  or  her, 

as  she  sat  silent  in  her  corner,  while  the  children 
3* 


60  THE   LAUREL  BUSH. 

V 

read  noisily  and  gayly  the  letters  from  their  far- 
away parents. 

Her  letter— what  had  befallen  it?  Had  he  for- 
gotten to  write?  But  Robert  Eoy  never  forgot 
any  thing.  Nor  did  he  delay  any  thing  that  he 
could  possibly  do  at  the  time  he  promised.  He 
was  one  of  the  very  few  people  in  this  world  who, 
in  small  things  as  in  great,  are  absolutely  reliable. 
It  seemed  so  impossible  to  believe  he  had  not  writ- 
ten, when  he  said  he  would,  that,  as  a  last  hope, 
she  stole  out  with  a  plaid  over  her  head  and  crept 
through  the  side  walks  of  the  garden,  almost  grop- 
ing her  way  through  the  fog,  and,  like  Archy,  stum- 
bling over  the  low  boughs  of  the  laurel  bush  to  the 
letter-box  it  held.  Her  trembling  hands  felt  in 
every  corner,  but  no  letter  was  there. 

She  went  wearily  back ;  weary  at  heart,  but  pa- 
tient still.  A  love  like  hers,  self-existent  and  suffi- 
cient to  itself,  is  very  patient,  quite  unlike  the  other 
and  more  common  form  of  the  passion;  not  love, 
but  a  diseased  craving  to  be  loved,  which  creates  a 
thousand  imaginary  miseries  and  wrongs.  Sharp 
was  her  pain,  poor  girl ;  but  she  was  not  angry,  and 
after  her  first  stab  of  disappointment  her  courage 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   LOVE  STORY.  61 

rose.  All  was  well  with  him ;  he  had  been  cheer- 
ily seen  starting  for  Edinburgh ;  and  her  own  tem- 
porary suffering  was  a  comparatively  small  thing. 
It  could  not  last;  the  letter  would  come  to-rnorrow. 

But  it  did  not,  nor  the  next  day,  nor  the  next. 
On  the  fourth  day,  her  heart  felt  like  to  break. 

I  think,  of  all  pangs  not  mortal,  few  are  worse 
than  this  small,  silent  agony  of  waiting  for  the  post; 
letting  all  the  day's  hope  climax  upon  a  single 
minute,  which  passes  by,  and  the  hope  with  it ;  and 
then  comes  another  day  of  dumb  endurance,  if  not 
despair.  This,  even  with  ordinary  letters,  upon 
which  any  thing  of  moment  depends.  With  oth- 
ers, such  as  this  letter  of  Kobert  Eoy's — let  us  not 
speak  of  it.  Some  may  imagine,  others  may  have 
known,  a  similar  suspense.  They  will  understand 
why,  long  years  afterward,  Fortune  Williams  was 
heard  to  say,  with  a  quiver  of  the  lip  that  could 
have  told  its  bitter  tale,  "No ;  when  I  have  a  letter 
to  write,  I  never  put  off  writing  it  for  a  single  day." 

As  these  days  wore  on,  these  cruel  days,  never 
remembered  without  a  shiver  of  pain,  and  of  won- 
der that  she  could  have  lived  through  them  at 
all,  the  whole  fabric  of  reasons,  arguments,  excuses, 


62  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

that  she  had  built  up,  tried  so  eagerly  to  build 
up,  for  him  and  herself,  gradually  crumbled  away. 
Had  she  altogether  misapprehended  the  purport 
of  his  promised  letter?  Was  it  just  some  ordina- 
ry note,  about  her  boys  and  their  studies  perhaps, 
which,  after  all,  he  had  not  thought  it  worth  while 
to  write  ?  Yet  surely  it.  was  worth  while,  if  only 
to  send  a  kindly  and  courteous  farewell  to  a  friend, 
after  so  close  an  intimacy  and  in  face  of  so  indefi- 
nite a  separation. 

A  friend?  Only  a  friend?  Words  may  de- 
ceive, eyes  seldom  can.  And  there  had  been  love 
in  his  eyes.  Not  mere  liking,  but  actual  love. 
She  had  seen  it,  felt  it,  with  that  almost  unerring 
instinct  that  women  have,  whether  they  return  the 
love  or  not.  In  the  latter  case,  they  seldom  doubt 
it ;  in  the  former,  they  often  do. 

"Could  I  have  been  mistaken?"  she  thought, 
with  a  burning  pang  of  shame.  "Oh,  why  did  he 
not  speak,  just  one  word  ?  After  that,  I  could  have 
borne  any  thing." 

But  he  had  not  spoken,  he  had  not  written.  He 
had  let  himself  drop  out  of  her  life  as  completely 
as  a  falling  star  drops  out  of  the  sky,  a  ship  sinks 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  63 

down  in  mid-ocean,  or — any  other  poetical  simile, 
used  under  such  circumstances  by  romantic  peo- 
ple. 

Fortune  Williams  was  not  romantic;  at  least, 
what  romance  was  in  her  lay  deep  down,  and  came 
out  in  act  rather  than  word.  She  neither  wept  nor 
raved,  nor  cultivated  any  external  signs  of  a  break- 
ing heart.  A  little  paler  she  grew,  a  little  quieter, 
but  nobody  observed  this:  indeed,  it  came  to  be 
one  of  her  deepest  causes  of  thank  fulness  that  there 
was  nobody  to  observe  any  thing — that  she  had  no 
living  soul  belonging  to  her,  neither  father,  mother, 
brother,  nor  sister,  to  pity  her  or  to  blame  him ; 
since  to  think  him  either  blamable  or  blamed 
would  have  been  the  sharpest  torture  she  could 
have  known. 

She  was  saved  that,  and  some  few  other  things, 
by  being  only  a  governess — instead  of  one  of  Fate's 
cherished  darlings,  nestled  in  a  family  home.  She 
had  no  time  to  grieve,  except  in  the  dead  of  night, 
when  "  the  rain  was  on  the  roof."  It  so  happened 
that,  after  the  haar,  there  set  in  a  season  of  contin- 
uous, sullen,  depressing  rain.  But  at  night-time, 
and  for  the  ten  minutes  between  post-hour  and  les- 


64  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

son-hour — which  she  generally  passed  in  her  own 
room — if  her  mother,  who  died  when  she  was  ten 
years  old,  could  have  seen  her,  she  would  have  said, 
" My  poor  child!" 

Kobert  Eoy  had  once  involuntarily  called  her 
so,  when  by  accident  one  of  her  rough  boys  hurt 
her  hand,  and  he  himself  bound  it  up,  with  the  in- 
describable tenderness  which  the  strong  only  know 
how  to  show  or  feel.  Well  she  remembered  this ; 
indeed,  almost  every  thing  he  had  said  or  done 
came  back  upon  her  now — vividly,  as  we  recall  the 
words  and  looks  of  the  dead — mingled  with  such  a 
hungering  pain,  such  a  cruel  "  miss  "  of  him,  daily 
and  hourly,  his  companionship,  help,  counsel,  every 
thing  she  had  lacked  all  her  life,  and  never  found 
but  with  him  and  from  him.  And  he  was  gone, 
had  broken  his  promise,  had  left  her  without  a  sin- 
gle farewell  word. 

That  he  had  cared  for  her  in  some  sort  of  way, 
she  was  certain ;  for  he  was  one  of  those  who  nev- 
er say  a  word  too  large — nay,  he  usually  said  much 
less  than  he  felt.  Whatever  he  had  felt  for  her— 
whether  friendship,  affection,  love — must  have  been 
true.  There  was  in  his  nature  intense  reserve,  but 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  65 

no  falseness,  no  insincerity,  not  an  atom  of  pretense 
of  any  kind. 

If  he  did  love  her,  why  not  tell  her  so  ?  What 
was  there  to  hinder  him?  Nothing,  except  that 
strange  notion  of  the  "  dishonorableness  "  of  asking 
a  woman's  love,  when  one  has  nothing  but  love  to 
give  her  in  return.  This,  even,  he  had  seemed  at 
the  last  to  have  set  aside,  as  if  he  could  not  go 
away  without  speaking.  And  yet  he  did  it. 

Perhaps  he  thought  she  did  not  care  for  him? 
He  had  once  said,  a  man  ought  to  feel  quite  sure 
of  a  woman  before  he  asked  her.  Also,  that  he 
should  never  ask  twice ;  since,  if  she  did  not  know 
her  own  mind  then,  she  never  would  know  it,  and 
such  a  woman  was  the  worst  possible  bargain  a 
man  could  make  in  marriage. 

Not  know  her  own  mind !  Alas !  poor  soul, 
Fortune  knew  it  only  too  well.  In  that  dreadful 
fortnight  it  was  "borne  in  upon  her,"  as  pious 
people  say,  that,  though  she  felt  kindly  to  all  hu- 
man beings,  the  one  human  being  who  was  nec- 
essary to  her — without  whom  her  life  might  be 
busy  indeed,  and  useful,  but  never  perfect,  an  en- 
durance instead  of  a  joy — was  this  young  man,  as 


66  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

solitary  as  herself,  as  poor,  as  hard-working ;  good, 
gentle,  brave  Kobert  Roy. 

Oh,  why  had  they  not  come  together,  heart  to 
heart — just  they  two,  so  alone  in  the  world — and 
ever  after  belonged  to  each  other,  helping,  com- 
forting, and  strengthening  each  other,  even  though 
it  had  been  years  and  years  before  they  were  mar- 
ried? 

"  If  only  he  had  loved  me,  and  told  me  so !"  was 
her  bitter  cry.  "I  could  have  waited  for  him  all 
my  life-long,  earned  my  bread  ever  so  hardly,  and 
quite  alone,  if  only  I  might  have  had  a  right  to 
him,  and  been  his  comfort,  as  he  was  mine.  But 


now,  now — " 


Yet  still  she  waited,  looking  forward  daily  to 
that  dreadful  post-hour ;  and  when  it  had  gone  by, 
nerving  herself  to  endure  until  to-morrow.  At  last 
hope,  slowly  dying,  was  killed  outright. 

One  day  at  tea-time  the  boys  blurted  out,  with 
happy  carelessness,  their  short-lived  regrets  for  him 
being  quite  over,  the  news  that  Mr.  Eoy  had  sailed. 

"  Not  for  Calcutta,  but  Shanghai,  a  much  longer 
voyage.  He  can't  be  heard  of  for  a  year  at  least, 
and  it  will  be  many  years  before  he  comes  back. 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  67 

I  wonder  if  he  will  come  back  rich.  They  say  he 
will:  quite  a  nabob  perhaps,  and  take  a  place  in 
the  Highlands,  and  invite  us  all — you  too,  Miss 
Williams.  I  once  asked  him,  and  he  said,  'Of 
course.'  Stop,  you  are  pouring  my  tea  over  into 
the  saucer." 

This  was  the  only  error  she  made,  but  went  on 
filling  the  cups  with  a  steady  hand,  smiling  and 
speaking  mechanically,  as  people  can  sometimes. 
When  tea  was  quite  over,  she  slipped  away  into 
her  room,  and  was  missing  for  a  long  time. 

So,  all  was  over.  No  more  waiting  for  that 
vague  "  something  to  happen."  Nothing  could 
happen  now.  He  was  far  away  across  the  seas, 
and  she  must  just  go  back  to  her  old  monotonous 
life,  as  if  it  had  never  been  any  different — as  if  she 
had  never  seen  his  face  or  heard  his  voice,  never 
known  the  blessing  of  his  companionship,  friend- 
ship, love,  whatever  it  was,  or  whatever  he  had 
meant  it  to  be.  No,  he  could  not  have  loved  her ; 
or  to  have  gone  away  would  have  been — she  did 
not  realize  whether  right  or  wrong — but  simply 
impossible. 

Once,  wearying  herself  with  helpless  conjectures, 


68  THE  LAUKEL  BUSH. 

a  thought,  sudden  and  sharp  as  steel,  went  through 
her  heart.  He  was  nearly  thirty;  few  lives  are 
thus  long  without  some  sort  of  love  in  them.  Per- 
haps he  was  already  bound  to  some  other  woman, 
and,  finding  himself  drifting  into  too  pleasant  in- 
timacy with  herself,  wished  to  draw  back  in  time. 
Such  things  had  happened,  sometimes  almost 
blamelessly,  though  most  miserably  to  all  parties. 
But  with  him  it  was  not  likely  to  happen.  He 
was  too  clear-sighted,  strong,  and  honest.  He 
would  never  "drift"  into  any  thing.  What  he 
did  would  be  done  with  a  calm,  deliberate  will,  in- 
capable of  the  slightest  deception,  either  toward 
others  or  himself.  Besides,  he  had  at  different 
times  told  her  the  whole  story  of  his  life,  and  there 
was  no  love  in  it ;  only  work,  hard  work,  poverty, 
courage,  and  endurance,  like  her  own. 

"  No,  he  could  never  have  deceived  me,  neither 
me  nor  any  one  else,"  she  often  said  to  herself,  al- 
most joyfully,  though  the  tears  were  running  down. 
"  Whatever  it  was,  it  was  not  that.  I  am  glad — 
glad.  I  had  far  rather  believe  he  never  loved  me 
than  that  he  had  been  false  to  another  woman  for 
my  sake.  And  I  believe  in  him  still ;  I  shall  al- 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  69 

ways  believe  in  him.  He  is  perfectly  good,  per- 
fectly true.  And  so,  it  does  not  much  matter 
about  me." 

I  am  afraid  those  young  ladies  who  like  plenty 
of  lovers,  who  expect  to  be  adored,  and  are  vexed 
when  they  are  not  adored,  and  most  nobly  indig- 
nant when  forsaken,  will  think  very  meanly  of  my 
poor  Fortune  Williams.  They  may  console  them- 
selves by  thinking  she  was  not  a  young  lady  at  all 
— only  a  woman.  Such  women  are  not  too  com- 
mon, but  they  exist  occasionally.  And  they  bear 
their  cross  and  dree  their  weird ;  but  their  lot,  at 
any  rate,  only  concerns  themselves,  and  has  one 
advantage,  that  it  in  no  way  injures  the  happiness 
of  other  people. 

Humble  as  she  was,  she  had  her  pride.  If  she 
wept,  it  was  out  of  sight.  If  she  wished  herself 
dead,  and  a  happy  ghost,  that  by  any  means  she 
might  get  near  him,  know  where  he  was,  and  what 
he  was  doing,  these  dreams  came  only  when  her 
work  was  done,  her  boys  asleep.  Day  never  be- 
trayed the  secrets  of  the  night.  She  set  to  work 
every  morning  at  her  daily  labor  with  a  dogged 
persistence,  never  allowing  herself  a  minute's  idle- 


70  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

ness  wherein  to  sit  down  and  mourn.  And  when, 
despite  her  will,  she  could  not  quite  conquer  the 
fits  of  nervous  irritability  that  came  over  her  at 
times — when  the  children's  innocent  voices  used  to 
pierce  her  like  needles,  and  their  incessant  ques- 
tions and  perpetual  company  were  almost  more 
than  she  could  bear — still,  even  then,  all  she  did 
was  to  run  away  and  hide  herself  for  a  little,  com- 
ing back  with  a  pleasant  face  and  a  smooth  tem- 
per. Why  should  she  scold  them,  poor  lambs? 
They  were  all  she  had  to  love,  or  that  loved  her. 
And  they  did  love  her,  with  all  their  boyish  hearts. 

One  day,  however — the  day  before  they  all  left 
St.  Andrews  for  England,  the  two  elder  to  go  to 
school,  and  the  younger  ones  to  return  with  her  to 
their  maternal  grandmother  to  London  — David 
said  something  which  wounded  her,  vexed  her, 
made  her  almost  thankful  to  be  going  away. 

She  was  standing  by  the  laurel  bush,  which  some- 
how had  for  her  a  strange  fascination,  and  her  hand 
was  on  the  letter-box  which  the  boys  and  Mr.  Eoy 
had  made.  There  was  a  childish  pleasure  in  touch- 
ing it,  or  any  thing  he  had  touched. 

"I  hope  grandmamma  won't  take  away  that 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  71 

box,"  said  Archy.  "  She  ought  to  keep  it  in  mem- 
ory of  us  and  of  Mr.  Koy.  How  cleverly  he  made 
it!  "Wasn't  he  clever,  now,  Miss  Williams?" 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  and  no  more. 

"  I've  got  a  better  letter-box  than  yours,"  said 
little  Davie,  mysteriously.  "  Shall  I  show  it  to 
you,  Miss  Williams?  And  perhaps,"  with  a  know- 
ing look — the  mischievous  lad!  and  yet  he  was 
more  loving  and  lovable  than  all  the  rest,  Mr. 
Koy's  favorite,  and  hers — "perhaps  you  might 
even  find  a  letter  in  it.  Cook  says  she  has  seen 
you  many  a  time  watching  for  a  letter  from  your 
sweetheart.  Who  is  he  ?" 

"I  have  none.  Tell  cook  she  should  not  talk 
such  nonsense  to  little  boys,"  said  the  governess, 
gravely.  But  she  felt  hot  from  head  to  foot,  and, 
turning,  walked  slowly  in-doors.  She  did  not  go 
near  the  laurel  bush  again. 

After  that,  she  was  almost  glad  to  get  away, 
among  strange  people  and  strange  places,  where 
Eobert  Eoy's  name  had  never  been  heard.  The 
familiar  places — hallowed  as  no  other  spot  in  this 
world  could  ever  be — passed  out  of  sight,  and  in 
another  week  her  six  months'  happy  life  at  St. 


72  THE  LAUEEL  BUSH. 

Andrews  had  vanished,  "like  a  dream  when  one 
awaketh." 

Had  she  awaked?  Or  was  her  daily,  outside 
life  to  be  henceforward  the  dream,  and  this  the  re- 
ality ? 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  73 


CHAPTER  III. 

TTTHAT  is  a  "wrecked"  life?  One  which  the 
waves  of  inexorable  fate  have  beaten  to 
pieces,  or  one  that,  like  an  unseaworthy  ship,  is 
ready  to  go  down  in  any  waters  ?  What  most  de- 
stroy us? — the  things  we  might  well  blame  our- 
selves for,  only  we  seldom  do,  our  follies,  blunders, 
errors,  not  counting  actual  sins?  or  the  things  for 
which  we  can  blame  nobody  but  Providence — if  we 
dared ;  such  as  our  losses  and  griefs,  our  sickness- 
es of  body  and  mind,  all  those  afflictions  which  we 
call  "  the  visitation  of  God  ?"  Ay,  and  so  they  are, 
but  not  sent  in  wrath  or  for  ultimate  evil.  No 
amount  of  sorrow  need  make  any  human  life  harm- 
ful to  man  or  unholy  before  God;  as  a  discon- 
tented, unhappy  life  must  needs  be  unholy  in  the 
sight  of  Him  who  in  the  mysterious  economy  of 
the  universe  seems  to  have  one  absolute  law — He 
wastes  nothing.  He  modifies,  transmutes,  substi- 


74:  THE   LAUKEL  BUSH. 

tutes,  re-applies  material  to  new  uses;  but  appar- 
ently by  him  nothing  is  ever  really  lost,  nothing 
thrown  away. 

Therefore,  I  incline  to  believe,  when  I  hear  peo- 
ple talking  of  a  "  wrecked  "  existence,  that,  whoso- 
ever is  to  blame,  it  is  not  Providence. 

Nobody  could  have  applied  the  term  to  Fortune 
Williams,  looking  at  her  as  she  sat  in  the  drawing- 
room  window  of  a  house  at  Brighton,  just  where 
the  gray  of  the  Esplanade  meets  the  green  of  the 
Downs — a  ladies'  boarding-school,  where  she  had 
in  her  charge  two  pupils,  left  behind  for  the  holi- 
days, while  the  mistress  took  a  few  weeks'  repose. 
She  sat  watching  the  sea,  which  was  very  beauti- 
ful, as  even  the  Brighton  sea  can  be  sometimes. 
Her  eyes  were  soft  and  calm,  her  hands  were  fold- 
ed on  her  black  silk  dress ;  her  pretty  little  tender- 
looking  hands — unringed,  for  she  was  still  Miss 
Williams,  still  a  governess. 

But  even  at  thirty-five — and  she  had  now  reach- 
ed that  age,  nay,  passed  it — she  was  not  what  you 
would  call  "old-maidish."  Perhaps  because  the 
motherly  instinct,  naturally  very  strong  in  her,  had 
developed  more  and  more.  She  was  one  of  those 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   LOVE  STORY.  75 

governesses — the  only  sort  who  ought  ever  to  at- 
tempt to  be  governesses — who  really  love  chil- 
dren, ay,  despite  their  naughtinesses  and  mischiev- 
ousnesses,  and  worrying  ways ;  who  feel  that,  after 
all,  these  little  ones  are  uof  the  kingdom  of  heav- 
en," and  that  the  task  of  educating  them  for  that 
kingdom  somehow  often  brings  us  nearer  to  it 
ourselves. 

Her  heart,  always  tender  to  children,  had  gone 
out  to  them  more  and  more  every  year ;  especially 
after  that  fatal  year,  when  a  man  took  it,  and  broke 
it.  No,  not  broke  it,  but  threw  it  carelessly  away, 
wounding  it  so  sorely  that  it  never  could  be  quite 
itself  again.  But  it  was  a  true  and  warm  and 
womanly  heart  still. 

She  had  never  heard  of  him — Eobert  Koy — nev- 
er once,  in  any  way,  since  that  Sunday  afternoon 
when  he  said,  "  I  will  write  to-morrow,"  and  did 
not  write,  but  let  her  drop  from  him  altogether 
like  a  worthless  thing.  Cruel,  somewhat,  even  to 
a  mere  acquaintance — but  to  her? 

Well,  all  was  past  and  gone,  and  the  tide  of  years 
had  flowed  over  it.  Whatever  it  was — a  mistake, 

a  misfortune,  or  a  wrong— nobody  knew  any  thing 
4 


76  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

about  it.  And  the  wound  was  even  healed,  in  a 
sort  of  a  way,  and  chiefly  by  the  unconscious  hands 
of  these  little  "  ministering  angels,"  who  were  an- 
gels that  never  hurt  her,  except  by  blotting  their 
copy-books  or  not  learning  their  lessons. 

I  know  it  may  sound  a  ridiculous  thing  that  a 
forlorn  governess  should  be  comforted  for  a  lost 
love  by  the  love  of  children ;  but  it  is  true  to  nat- 
ure. Women's  lives  have  successive  phases,  each 
following  the  other  in  natural  gradation — maiden- 
hood, wifehood,  motherhood  :  in  not  one  of  which, 
ordinarily,  we  regret  the  one  before  it,  to  which  it 
is  nevertheless  impossible  to  go  back.  But  Fort- 
une's life  had  had  none  of  these,  excepting  perhaps 
her  one  six  months'  dream  of  love  and  spring. 
That  being  over,  she  fell  back  upon  autumn  days 
and  autumn  pleasures — which  are  very  real  pleas- 
ures, after  all. 

As  she  sat  with  the  two  little  girls  leaning  against 
her  lap — they  were  Indian  children,  unaccustomed 
to  tenderness,  and  had  already  grown  very  fond 
of  her — there  was  a  look  in  her  face,  not  at  all  like 
an  ancient  maiden,  or  a  governess,  but  almost  moth- 
erly. You  see  the  like  in  the  faces  of  the  Virgin 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  77 

Mary,  as  the  old  monks  used  to  paint  her,  quaint, 
and  not  always  lovely,  but  never  common  or  coarse, 
and  spiritualized  by  a  look  of  mingled  tenderness 
and  sorrow  into  something  beyond  all  beauty. 

This  woman's  face  had  it,  so  that  people  who 
had  known  Miss  Williams  as  a  girl  were  astonish- 
ed to  find  her,  as  a  middle-aged  woman,  grown  "so 
good-looking."  To  which  one  of  her  pupils  once 
answered,  naively,  "It  is  because  she  looks  so 
good." 

But  this  was  after  ten  years  and  more.  Of  the 
first  half  of  those  years  the  less  that  is  said,  the 
better.  She  did  not  live ;  she  merely  endured  life. 
Monotony  without — a  constant  aching  within;  a 
restless,  gnawing  want,  a  perpetual  expectation, 
half  hope,  half  fear;  no  human  being  could  bear 
all  this  without  being  the  worse  for  it,  or  the  bet- 
ter. But  the  bitterness  came  afterward,  not  at 
first. 

Sometimes  her  craving  to  hear  the  smallest  ti- 
dings of  him,  only  if  he  were  alive  or  dead,  grew 
into  such  an  agony,  that,  had  it  not  been  for  her 
entire  helplessness  in  the  matter,  she  might  have 
tried  some  means  of  gaining  information.  But, 


78  THE   LAUREL  BUSH. 

from  his  sudden  change  of  plans,  she  was  ignorant 
even  of  the  name  of  the  ship  he  had  sailed  by,  the 
firm  he  had  gone  to.  She  could  do  absolutely 
nothing,  and  learn  nothing.  Hers  was  something 
like  the  "Affliction  of  Margaret,"  that  poem  of 
Wordsworth's  which,  when  her  little  pupils  recited 
it — as  they  often  did — made  her  ready  to  sob  out 
loud,  from  the  pang  of  its  piteous  reality : 

"  I  look  for  ghosts,  but  none  will  force 
Their  way  to  me :  'tis  falsely  said 

That  there  was  ever  intercourse 
Betwixt  the  living  and  the  dead : 

For  surely  then  I  should  have  sight 

Of  him  I  wait  for,  day  and  night, 

With  love  and  longings  infinite." 

Still,  in  the  depth  of  her  heart  she  did  not  be- 
lieve Eobert  Roy  was  dead;  for  her  finger  was 
still  empty  of  that  ring — her  mother's  ring — which 
he  had  drawn  off,  promising  its  return  "when  he 
was  dead  or  she  was  married."  This  implied  that 
he  never  meant  to  lose  sight  of  her.  Nor,  indeed, 
had  he  wished  it,  would  it  have  been  very  difficult 
to  find  her,  these  ten  years  having  been  spent  en- 
tirely in  one  place,  an  obscure  village  in  the  South 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  79 

of  England,  where  she  had  lived  as  governess — 
first  in  the  squire's  family,  then  the  rector's. 

From  the  Dalziel  family,  where,  as  she  had  said 
to  Mr.  Eoy,  she  hoped  to  remain  for  years,  she  had 
drifted  away  almost  immediately,  within  a  few 
months.  At  Christmas  old  Mrs.  Dalziel  had  sud- 
denly died ;  her  son  had  returned  home,  sent  his 
four  boys  to  school  in  Germany,  and  gone  back 
again  to  India.  There  was  now,  for  the  first  time 
for  half  a  century,  not  a  single  Dalziel  left  in  St. 
Andrews. 

But  though  all  ties  were  broken  connecting  her 
with  the  dear  old  city,  her  boys  still  wrote  to  her 
now  and  then,  and  she  to  them,  with  a  persisten- 
cy for  which  her  conscience  smote  her  sometimes, 
knowing  it  was  not  wholly  for  their,  sakes.  But 
they  had  never  been  near  her,  and  she  had  little 
expectation  of  seeing  any  of  them  ever  again,  since 
by  this  time  she  had  lived  long  enough  to  find  out 
how  easily  people  do  drift  asunder,  and  lose  all 
clue  to  one  another,  unless  some  strong,  firm  will, 
or  unconquerable  habit  of  fidelity,  exists  on  one 
side  or  the  other. 

Since  the  Dalziels,  she  had  only  lived  in  the 


80  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

two  families  before  named,  and  had  been  lately 
driven  from  the  last  one  by  a  catastrophe,  if  it  may 
be  called  so,  which  had  been  the  bitterest  drop  in 
her  cup  since  the  time  she  left  St.  Andrews. 

The  rector — a  widower,  and  a  feeble,  gentle  in- 
valid, to  whom  naturally  she  had  been  kind  and 
tender,  regarding  him  with  much  the  same  sort  of 
motherly  feeling  as  she  had  regarded  his  children 
— suddenly  asked  her  to  become  their  mother  in 
reality. 

It  was  a  great  shock  and  pang.  Almost  a  temp- 
tation ;  for  they  all  loved  her,  and  wished  to  keep 
her.  She  would  have  been  such  a  blessing,  such  a 
brightness,  in  that  dreary  home.  And  to  a  wom- 
an no  longer  young,  who  had  seen  her  youth  pass 
without  any  brightness  in  it,  God  knows  what  an 
allurement  it  is  to  feel  she  has  still  the  power  of 
brightening  other  lives.  If  Fortune  had  yielded 
— if  she  had  said  yes,  and  married  the  rector — it 
would  have  been  hardly  wonderful,  scarcely  blam- 
able.  Nor  would  it  have  been  the  first  time  that 
a  good,  conscientious,  tender-hearted  woman  has 
married  a  man  for  pure  tenderness. 

But  she  did  not  do   it;    not  even  when  they 


AN   OLD-FASHIONED   LOVE  STORY.  81 

clung  around  her — those  forlorn,  half  -  educated, 
but  affectionate  girls — -entreating  her  to  "marry 
papa,  and  make  us  all  happy."  She  could  not — 
how  could  she?  She  felt  very  kindly  to  him. 
He  had  her  sincere  respect,  almost  affection ;  but 
when  she  looked  into  her  own  heart,  she  found 
there  was  not  in  it  one  atom  of  love,  never  had 
been,  for  any  man  alive,  except  Eobert  Koy.  While 
he  was  unmarried,  for  her  to  marry  would  be  im- 
possible. 

And  so  she  had  the  wisdom  and  courage  to  say 
to  herself,  and  to  them  all,  "  This  can  not  be ;"  to 
put  aside  the  cup  of  attainable  happiness,  which 
might  never  have  proved  real  happiness,  because 
founded  on  an  insincerity. 

But  the  pain  this  cost  was  so  great,  the  wrench 
of  parting  from  her  poor  girls  so  cruel,  that  after  it 
Miss  Williams  had  a  sharp  illness,  the  first  serious 
illness  of  her  life.  She  struggled  through  it  quiet- 
ly and  alone,  in  one  of  those  excellent  "Govern- 
esses' Homes,"  where  every  body  was  very  kind  to 
her — some  more  than  kind,  affectionate.  It  was 
strange,  she  often  thought,  what  an  endless  amount 
of  affection  followed  her  wherever  she  went.  She 


82  THE  LAUKEL  BUSH. 

was  by  no  means  one  of  those  women  who  go 
about  the  world  moaning  that  nobody  loves  them. 
Every  body  loved  her,  and  she  knew  it — every 
body  whose  love  was  worth  having — except  Kob- 
ert  Koy. 

Still,  her  mind  never  changed ;  not  even  when, 
in  the  weakness  of  illness,  there  would  come  vague 
dreams  of  that  peaceful  rectory,  with  its  quiet 
rooms  and  green  garden;  of  the  gentle,  kindly- 
hearted  father,  and  the  two  loving  girls,  whom  she 
could  have  made  so  happy,  and  perhaps  won  hap- 
piness herself  in  the  doing  of  it. 

"I  am  a  great  fool,  some  people  would  say," 
thought  she,  with  a  sad  smile;  "perhaps  rather 
worse.  Perhaps  I  am  acting  absolutely  wrong  in 
throwing  away  my  chance  of  doing  good.  But  I 
can  not  help  it — I  can  not  help  it." 

So  she  kept  to  her  resolution,  writing  the  occa- 
sional notes  she  had  promised  to  write  to  her  poor, 
forsaken  girls,  without  saying  a  word  of  her  ill- 
ness ;  and  when  she  grew  better,  though  not  strong 
enough  to  undertake  a  new  situation,  finding  her 
money  slipping  away — though,  with  her  good  sal- 
aries and  small  wants,  she  was  not  poor,  and  had 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  83 

already  begun  to  lay  up  for  a  lonely  old  age — she 
accepted  this  temporary  home  at  Miss  Maclach- 
lan's,  at  Brighton.  Was  it — so  strange  are  the  un- 
der-currents  which  guide  one's  outward  life — was 
it  because  she  had  found  a  curious  charm  in  the 
old  lady's  Scotch  tongue,  unheard  for  years?  that 
the  two  little  pupils  were  Indian  children,  and  that 
the  house  was  at  the  sea-side  ? — and  she  had  never 
seen  the  sea  since  she  left  St.  Andrews. 

It  was  like  going  back  to  the  days  of  her  youth 
to  sit,  as  now,  watching  the  sunshine  glitter  on  the 
far-away  ocean.  The  very  smell  of  the  sea- weed, 
the  lap-lap  of  the  little  waves,  brought  back  old 
recollections  so  vividly — old  thoughts,  some  bitter, 
some  sweet,  but  the  sweetness  generally  overcom- 
ing the  bitterness. 

*'  I  have  had  all  the  joy  that  the  world  could  bestow ; 
I  have  lived — I  have  loved — " 

So  sings  the  poet,  and  truly.  Though  to  this 
woman  love  had  brought  not  joy,  but  sorrow,  still 
she  had  loved,  and  it  had  been  the  main-stay  and 
stronghold  of  her  life,  even  though  to  outsiders  it 
might  have  appeared  little  better  than  a  delusion, 

4* 


84:  THE   LAUKEL  BUSH. 

a  dream.  Once,  and  by  one  only,  her  whole  nat- 
ure had  been  drawn  out,  her  ideal  of  moral  right 
entirely  satisfied.  And  nothing  had  ever  shatter- 
ed this  ideal.  She  clung  to  it,  as  we  cling  to  the 
memory  of  our  dead  children,  who  are  children 
forever. 

With  a  passionate  fidelity  she  remembered  all 
Kobert  Eoy's  goodness,  his  rare  and  noble  quali- 
ties, resolutely  shutting  her  eyes  to  what  she  might 
have  judged  severely,  had  it  happened  to  another 
person  —  his  total,  unexplained,  and  inexplicable 
desertion  of  herself.  It  was  utterly  irreconcilable 
with  all  she  had  ever  known  of  him ;  and  being 
powerless  to  unravel  it,  she  left  it,  just  as  we  have 
to  leave  many  a  mystery  in  heaven  and  earth,  with 
the  humble  cry,  "I  can  not  understand — I  love." 

She  loved  him,  that  was  all ;  and  sometimes 
even  yet,  across  that  desert  of  despair,  stretching 
before  and  behind  her,  came  a  wild  hope,  almost  a 
conviction,  that  she  should  meet  him  again,  some- 
where, somehow.  This  day,  even  when,  after  an 
hour's  delicious  idleness,  she  roused  herself  to  take 
her  little  girls  down  to  the  beach,  and  sat  on  the 
shingle  while  they  played,  the  sound  and  sights 


AN   OLD-FASHIONED   LOVE   STOEY.  85 

of  the  sea  brought  old  times  so  vividly  back,  that 
she  could  almost  have  fancied  coming  behind  her 
the  familiar  step,  the  pleasant  voice,  as  when  Mr. 
Koy  and  his  boys  used  to  overtake  her  on  the  St. 
Andrews  shore— Kobert  Roy,  a  young  man,  with 
his  life  all  before  him,  as  was  hers.  Now  she  was 
middle-aged,  and  he  —  he  must  be  over  forty  by 
this  time.  How  strange ! 

Stranger  still,  that  there  had  never  occurred  to 
her  one  possibility — that  he  "  was  not,"  that  God 
had  taken  him.  But  this  her  heart  absolutely  re- 
fused to  accept.  So  long  as  he  was  in  it,  the  world 
would  never  be  quite  empty  to  her.  Afterward — 
But,  as  I  said,  there  are  some  things  which  can  not 
be  faced,  and  this  was  one  of  them. 

All  else  she  had  faced  long  ago.  She  did  not 
grieve  now.  As*  she  walked  with  her  children, 
listening  to  their  endless  talk,  with  that  patient 
sympathy  which  made  all  children  love  her,  and 
which  she  often  found  was  a  better  help  to  their 
education  than  dozens  of  lessons,  there  was  on  her 
face  that  peaceful  expression  which  is  the  great- 
est preservative  of  youth,  the  greatest  antidote  to 
change.  And  so  it  was  no  wonder  that  a  tall  lad, 


86  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

passing  and  repassing  on  the  Esplanade  with  an- 
other youth,  looked  at  her  more  than  once  with 
great  curiosity,  and  at  last  advanced  with  hesita- 
ting politeness. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am,  if  I  mistake;  but 
you  are  so  like  a  lady  I  once  knew,  and  am  now 
looking  for — are  you  Miss  Williams?" 

"  My  name  is  Williams,  certainly ;  and  you  " — 
something  in  the  curly  light  hair,  the  mischievous 
twinkle  of  the  eye,  struck  her — "  you  can  not  be, 
it  is  scarcely  possible,  David  Dalziel  ?" 

"  But  I  am,  though,"  cried  the  lad,  shaking  her 
hand  as  if  he  would  shake  it  off.  "And  I  call 
myself  very  clever  to  have  remembered  you,  though 
I  was  such  a  little  fellow  when  you  left  us,  and  I 
have  only  seen  your  photograph  since,  But  you 
are  not  a  bit  altered,  not  one  bit'.  And  as  I  knew, 
by  your  last  letter  to  Archy,  that  you  were  at 
Brighton,  I  thought  I'd  risk  it,  and  speak.  Hurra ! 
how  very  jolly !" 

He  had  grown  a  handsome  lad,  the  pretty  wee 
Davie,  an  honest-looking  lad,  too,  apparently ;  and 
she  was  glad  to  see  him.  From  the  dignity  of  his 
eighteen  years  and  five  feet  ten  of  height,  he  look- 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.      87 

ed  down  upon  the  governess  and  patronized  her 
quite  tenderly ;  dismissing  his  friend,  and  walking 
home  with  her,  telling  her  on  the  way  all  his  affairs 
and  that  of  his  family,  with  the  volubility  of  little 
David  Dalziel  at  St.  Andrews. 

"  No,  I've  not  forgotten  St.  Andrews  one  bit, 
though  I  was  so  small.  I  remember  poor  old  gran- 
nie, and  her  cottage,  and  the  garden,  and  the  Links, 
and  the  golfing,  and  Mr.  Koy.  By-the-bye,  what 
has  become  of  Mr.  Koy?" 

The  suddenness  of  the  question,  nay,  the  very 
sound  of  a  name  totally  silent  for  so  many  years, 
made  Fortune's  heart  throb  till  its  beating  was  act- 
ual pain.  Then  came  a  sudden,  desperate  hope,  as 
she  answered, 

"I  can  not  tell.  I  have  never  heard  any  thing 
of  him.  Have  you?" 

"  No — yet,  let  me  see.  I  think  Archy  once  got 
a  letter  from  him,  a  year  or  so  after  he  went  away ; 
but  we  lost  it  somehow,  and  never  answered  it. 
We  have  never  heard  any  thing  since." 

Miss  Williams  sat  down  on  one  of  the  benches 
facing  the  sea,  with  a  murmured  excuse  of  being 
"tired."  One  of  her  little  girls  crept  beside  her, 


88  THE   LAUKEL  BUSH. 

stealing  a  hand  in  hers.  She  held  it  fast,  her  own 
shook  so,  but  gradually  she  grew  quite  herself 
again.  "  I  have  been  ill,"  she  explained,  "  and 
can  not  walk  far.  Let  us  sit  down  here  a  little. 
You  were  speaking  about  Mr.  Roy,  David  ?" 

"  Yes ;  what  a  good  fellow  he  was !  We  called 
him  Rob  Roy,  I  remember,  but  only  behind  his 
back.  He  was  strict,  but  he  was  a  jolly  old  soul, 
for  all  that.  I  believe  I  should  know  him  again 
any  day,  as  I  did  you.  But  perhaps  he  is  dead ; 
people  die  pretty  fast  abroad,  and  ten  years  is  a 
long  time,  isn't  it?" 

"A  long  time.  And  you  never  got  any  more 
letters?" 

"  No ;  or  if  they  did  come,  they  were  lost,  being 
directed  probably  to  the  care  of  poor  old  grannie, 
as  ours  was.  We  thought  it  so  odd,  after  she  was 
dead,  you  know." 

Thus  the  boy  chattered  on — his  tongue  had  not 
shortened  with  his  increasing  inches  —  and  every 
idle  word  sunk  down  deep  in  his  old  governess's 
heart. 

Then  it  was  only  her  whom  Robert  Roy  had 
forsaken  ?  He  had  written  to  his  boys ;  probably 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   LOVE   STORY.  89 

would  have  gone  on  writing,  had  they  answered 
his  letter.  He  was  neither  faithless  nor  forgetful. 
With  an  ingenuity  that  might  have  brought  to  any 
listener  a  smile  or  a  tear,  Miss  Williams  led  the 
conversation  round  again,  till  she  could  easily  ask 
more  concerning  that  one  letter ;  but  David  remem- 
bered little  or  nothing  except  that  it  was  dated 
from  Shanghai,  for  his  brothers  had  had  a  discussion 
whether  Shanghai  was  in  China  or  Japan.  Then, 
boy-like,  they  had  forgotten  the  whole  matter. 

"  Yes,  by  this  time  every  body  has  forgotten 
him,"  thought  Fortune  to  herself,  when,  having 
bid  David  good-bye  at  her  door  and  arranged  to 
meet  him  again — he  was  on  a  visit  at  Brighton 
before  matriculating  at  Oxford  next  term — she  sat 
down  in  her  own  room,  with  a  strangely  bewil- 
dered feeling.  "  Mine,  all  mine,"  she  said,  and  her 
heart  closed  itself  over  him,  her  old  friend  at  least, 
if  nothing  more,  with  a  tenacity  of  tenderness  as 
silent  as  it  was  strong. 

From  that  day,  though  she  saw,  and  was  deter- 
mined henceforward  to  see,  as  much  as  she  could 
of  young  David  Dalziel,  she  never  once  spoke  to 
him  of  Mr.  Roy. 


yO  THE   LAUREL  BUSH. 

Still,  to  have  the  lad  coming  about  her  was  a 
pleasure,  a  fond  link  with  the  past,  and  to  talk  to 
him  about  his  future  was  a  pleasure  too.  He  was 
the  one  of  all  the  four — Mr.  Koy  always  said  so — 
who  had  "brains"  enough  to  become  a  real  stu- 
dent; and  instead  of  following  the  others  to  In- 
dia, he  was  to  go  to  Oxford  and  do  his  best  there. 
His  German  education  had  left  him  few  English 
friends ;  he  was  an  affectionate,  simple-hearted  lad, 
and,  now  that  his  mischievous  days  were  done,  was 
taking  to  thorough  hard  work.  He  attached  him- 
self to  his  old  governess  with  an  enthusiasm  that  a 
lad  in  his  teens  often  conceives  for  a  woman  still 
young  enough  to  be  sympathetic,  and  intelligent 
enough  to  guide,  without  ruling,  the  errant  fancy 
of  that  age.  She,  too,  soon  grew  very  fond  of  him. 
It  made  her  strangely  happy,  this  sudden  rift  of 
sunshine  out  of  the  never-forgotten  heaven  of  her 
youth,  now  almost  as  far  off  as  heaven  itself. 

I  have  said  she  never  spoke  to  David  about  Mr. 
Koy,  nor  did  she;  but  sometimes  he  spoke,  and 
then  she  listened.  It  seemed  to  cheer  her  for  hours 
only  to  hear  that  name.  She  grew  stronger,  gayer, 
younger.  Every  body  said  how  much  good  the 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  91 

sea  was  doing  her,  and  so  it  was;  but  not  exactly 
in  the  way  people  thought.  The  spell  of  silence 
upon  her  life  had  been  broken,  and  though  she 
knew  all  sensible  persons  would  esteem  her  in  this, 
as  in  that  other  matter,  a  great  "  fool,"  still  she 
could  not  stifle  a  vague  hope  that  some  time  or 
other  her  blank  life  might  change.  Every  little 
wave  that  swept  in  from  the  mysterious  ocean,  the 
ocean  that  lay  between  them  two,  seemed  to  carry 
a  whispering  message  and  lay  it  at  her  feet.  "  Wait 
and  be  patient,  wait  and  be  patient." 

She  did  wait,  and  the  message  came  at  last. 

One  day,  David  Dalziel  called,  on  one  of  his  fa- 
vorite daily  rides,  and  threw  a  newspaper  down  at 
her  door,  where  she  was  standing. 

"An  Indian  paper  my  mother  has  just  sent. 
There's  something  in  it  that  will  interest  you, 
and—" 

His  horse  galloped  off  with  the  unfinished  sen- 
tence ;  and,  supposing  it  was  something  concerning 
his  family,  she  put  the  paper  in  her  pocket  to  read 
at  leisure  while  she  sat  on  the  beach.  She  had  al- 
most forgotten  it,  as  she  watched  the  waves,  full 
of  that  pleasant  idleness  and  dreamy  peace  so  new 


92  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

in  her  life,  and  which  the  sound  of  the  sea  so  often 
brings  to  peaceful  hearts,  who  have  no  dislike  to 
its  monotony,  no  dread  of  those  solemn  thoughts  of 
infinitude,  time,  and  eternity,  God,  and  death,  and 
love — which  it  unconsciously  gives,  and  which  I 
think  is  the  secret  why  some  people  say  they  have 
"  such  a  horror  of  the  sea-side." 

She  had  none;  she  loved  it,  for  its  sights  and 
sounds  were  mixed  up  with  all  the  happiness  of 
her  young  days.  She  could  have  sat  all  this  sun- 
shiny morning  on  the  beach  doing  absolutely  noth- 
ing, had  she  not  remembered  David's  newspaper; 
which,  just  to  please  him,  she  must  look  through. 
She  did  so,  and  in  the  corner  among  the  brief  list 
of  names  in  the  obituary,  she  saw  that  of  "Koy." 
Not  himself;  as  she  soon  found,  as  soon  as  she 
could  see  to  read,  in  the  sudden  blindness  that 
came  over  her.  Not  himself.  Only  his  child. 

"  On  Christmas-day,  at  Shanghai,  aged  three  and 
a  half  years,  Isabella,  the  only  and  beloved  daugh- 
ter of  Eobert  and  Isabella  Koy." 

He  was  alive,  then.  That  was  her  first  thought, 
almost  a  joyful  one,  showing  how  deep  had  been 
her  secret  dread  of  the  contrary.  And  he  was 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE   STORY.  93 

married.  His  " only  and  beloved  daughter !"  Oh! 
how  beloved  she  could  well  understand.  Married, 
and  a  father;  and  his  child  was  dead. 

Many  may  think  it  strange  (it  would  be  in  most 
women,  but  it  was  not  in  this  woman)  that  the  tor- 
rent of  tears  which  burst  forth,  after  her  first  few 
minutes  of  dry-eyed  anguish,  was  less  for  herself, 
because  he  was  married  and  she  had  lost  him,  than 
for  him,  because  he  had  had  a  child  and  lost  it — 
he  who  was  so  tender  of  heart,  so  -fond  of  children. 
The  thought  of  his  grief  brought  such  a  consecra- 
tion with  it,  that  her  grief — the  grief  most  women 
might  be  expected  to  feel,  on  reading  suddenly  in 
a  newspaper  that  the  man  they  loved  was  married 
to  another — did  not  come.  At  least  not  at  once. 
It  did  not  burst  upon  her,  as  sorrow  does  some- 
times, like  a  wild  beast  out  of  a  jungle,  slaying  and 
devouring.  She  was  not  slain,  not  even  stunned. 
After  a  few  minutes  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  it  had 
happened  long  ago — as  if  she  had  always  known  it 
must  happen,  and  was  not  astonished. 

His  "only  and  beloved  daughter!"  The  words 
sung  themselves  in  and  out  of  her  brain,  to  the 
murmur  of  the  sea.  How  he  must  have  loved  the 


94  THE   LAUREL  BUSH. 

child!  She  could  almost  see  him  with  the  little 
one  in  his  arms,  or  watching  over  her  bed,  or 
standing  beside  her  small  coffin.  Three  years  and 
a  half  old !  Then  he  must  have  been  married  a 
good  while — long  and  long  after  she  had  gone  on 
thinking  of  him — as  no  righteous  woman  ever  can 
go  on  thinking  of  another  woman's  husband. 

One  burning  blush — one  shiver  from  head  to 
foot  of  mingled  agony  and  shame — one  cry  of  pite- 
ous despair,  which  nobody  heard  but  God — and 
she  was  not  afraid  of  His  hearing — and  the  strug- 
gle was  over.  She  saw  Eobert  Roy,  with  his  child 
in  his  arms,  with  his  wife  by  his  side,  the  same  and 
yet  a  totally  different  man. 

She,  too,  when  she  rose  up  and  tried  to  walk — 
tried  to  feel  that  it  was  the  same  sea,  the  same 
shore,  the  same  earth  and  sky — was  a  totally  dif- 
ferent woman.  Something  was  lost,  something 
never  to  be  retrieved  on  this  side  the  grave,  but 
also  something  was  found. 

"  He  is  alive,"  she  said  to  herself,  with  the 
same  strange  joy ;  for  now  she  knew  where 
he  was,  and  what  had  happened  to  him.  The 
silence  of  all  these  years  was  broken,  the  dead 


AN   OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  95 

had  come  to  life  again,  and  the  lost,  in  a  sense, 
was  found. 

Fortune  Williams  rose  up  and  walked,  in  more 
senses  than  one;  went  round  to  fetch  her  little 
girls,  as  she  had  promised,  from  that  newly  opened 
delight  of  children,  the  Brighton  Aquarium ;  staid 
a  little  with  them,  admiring  the  fishes ;  and  when 
she  reached  home  and  found  David  Dalziel  in  the 
drawing-room,  met  him  and  thanked  him  for  bring- 
ing her  the  newspaper. 

"I  suppose  it  was  on  account  of  that  obituary 
notice  of  Mr.  Hoy's  child,"  said  she,  calmly  speak- 
ing the  name  now.  "What  a  sad  thing!  But 
still  I  am  glad  to  know  he  is  alive  and  well.  So 
will  you  be.  Shall  you  write  to  him  ?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  answered  the  lad,  care- 
lessly crumpling  up  the  newspaper  and  throw- 
ing it  on  the  fire.  Miss  Williams  made  a  faint 
movement  to  snatch  it  out,  then  disguised  the 
gesture  in  some  way,  and  silently  watched  it 
burn.  "I  don't  quite  see  the  use  of  writing. 
He's  a  family  man  now,  and  must  have  forgot- 
ten all  about  his  old  friends.  Don't  you  think 
so?" 


96  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

" Perhaps;  only  he  was  not  the  sort  of  person 
easily  to  forget." 

She  could  defend  him  now ;  she  could  speak  of 
him,  and  did  speak,  more  than  once  afterward, 
when  David  referred  to  the  matter.  And  then  the 
lad  quit  Brighton  for  Oxford,  and  she  was  left  in 
her  old  loneliness. 

A  loneliness  which  I  will  not  speak  of.  She 
herself  never  referred  to  that  time.  After  it,  she 
roused  herself  to  begin  her  life  anew  in  a  fresh 
home,  to  work  hard,  not  only  for  daily  bread,  but 
for  that  humble  independence  which  she  was  de- 
termined to  win  before  the  dark  hour  when  the 
most  helpful  become  helpless,  and  the  most  inde- 
pendent are  driven  to  fall  a  piteous  burden  into 
the  charitable  hands  of  friends  or  strangers — a 
thing  to  her  so  terrible,  that,  to  save  herself  from 
the  possibility  of  it,  she  who  had  never  leaned  upon 
any  body,  never  had  any  body  to  lean  upon,  be- 
came her  one  almost  morbid  desire. 

She  had  no  dread  of  a  solitary  old  age,  but  an 
old  age  beholden  to  either  public  or  private  charity 
was  to  her  intolerable ;  and  she  had  now  few  years 
left  her  to  work  in — a  governess's  life  wears  worn- 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   LOVE  STORY.  97 

en  out  very  fast.  She  determined  to  begin  to  work 
again  immediately,  laying  by  as  much  as  possible 
yearly,  against  the  days  when  she  could  work  no 
more;  consulted  Miss  Maclachlan,  who  was  most 
kind;  and  then  sought,  and  was  just  about  going 
to,  another  situation,  with  the  highest  salary  she 
had  yet  earned,  when  an  utterly  unexpected  change 
altered  every  thing. 


98  THE  LAUKEL  BUSH. 


CHAPTER  IY. 

fly  was  already  at  the  door,  and  Miss  Wil- 
liams,  with  her  small  luggage,  would  in  five 
minutes  have  departed,  followed  by  the  good  wish- 
es of  all  the  household,  from  Miss  Maclachlan's 
school  to  her  new  situation,  when  the  postman 
passed  and  left  a  letter  for  her. 

"I  will  put  it  in  my  pocket  and  read  it  in  the 
train,"  she  said,  with  a  slight  change  of  color.  For 
she  recognized  the  handwriting  of  that  good  man 
who  had  loved  her,  and  whom  she  could  not  love. 

"Better  read  it  now.  No  time  like  the  pres- 
ent," observed  Miss  Maclachlan. 

Miss  Williams  did  so.  As  soon  as  she  was  fair- 
ly started,  and  alone  in  the  fly,  she  opened  it ;  with 
hands  slightly  trembling,  for  she  was  touched  by 
the  persistence  of  the  good  rector,  and  his  faithful- 
ness to  her,  a  poor  governess,  when  he  might  have 
married,  as  they  said  in  his  neighborhood,  "  any 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  99 

body."     He  would  never  marry  any  body  now — 
he  was  dying. 

"I  have  come  to  feel  how  wrong  I  was,"  he 
wrote,  "  in  ever  trying  to  change  our  happy  rela- 
tions together.  I  have  suffered  for  this — so  have 
we  all.  But  it  is  too  late  for  regret  now.  My 
time  has  come.  Do  not  grieve  yourself  by  imag- 
ining it  has  come  the  faster  through  any  decision 
of  yours,  but  by  slow,  inevitable  disease,  which  the 
doctors  have  only  lately  discovered.  Nothing 
could  have  saved  me.  Be  satisfied  that  there  is  no 
cause  for  you  to  give  yourself  one  minute's  pain." 
(How  she  sobbed  over  those  shaky  lines,  more 
even  than  over  the  newspaper  lines  which  she  had 
read  that  sunshiny  morning  on%  the  shore!)  "Ke- 
member  only  that  you  made  me  very  happy — me 
and  all  mine — for  years ;  that  I  loved  you,  as  even 
at  my  age  a  man  can  love ;  as  I  shall  love  you  to 
the  end,  which  can  not  be  very  far  off  now.  Would 
you  dislike  coming  to  see  me  just  once  again?  My 
girls  will  be  so  very  glad,  and  nobody  will  remark 
it,  for  nobody  knows  any  thing.  Besides,  what 
matter?  I  am  dying.  Come  if  you  can,  within  a 
week  or  so;  they  tell  me  I  may  last  thus  long. 


100  THE   LAUKEL  BUSH. 

And  I  want  to  consult  with  you  about  my  chil- 
dren. Therefore  I  will  not  say  good-bye  now, 
only  good-night,  and  God  bless  you." 

But  it  was  good-bye,  after  all.  Though  she  did 
not  wait  the  week ;  indeed,  she  waited  for  nothing, 
considered  nothing,  except  her  gratitude  to  this 
good  man — the  only  man  who  had  loved  her,  and 
her  affection  for  the  two  girls,  who  would  soon 
be  fatherless;  though  she  sent  a  telegram  from 
Brighton  to  say  she  was  coming,  and  arrived  with- 
in twenty-four  hours,  still,  she  came  too  late. 

When  she  reached  the  village,  she  heard  that 
his  sufferings  were  all  over ;  and  a  few  yards  from 
his  garden  wall,  in  the  shade  of  the  church-yard 
lime-tree,  the  old  sexton  was  busy  re-opening,  after 
fourteen  years,  the  family  grave,  where  he  was  to 
be  laid  beside  his  wife  the  day  after  to-morrow. 
His  two  daughters,  sitting  alone  together  in  the 
melancholy  house,  heard  Miss  Williams  enter,  and 
ran  to  meet  her.  With  a  feeling  of  nearness  and 
tenderness  such  as  she  had  scarcely  ever  felt  for 
any  human  being,  she  clasped  them  close,  and  let 
them  weep  their  hearts  out  in  her  motherly  arms. 

Thus  the  current  of  her  whole  life  was  changed  ; 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE   STORY.  101 

for,  when  Mr.  Moseley's  will  was  opened,  it  was 
found  that,  besides  leaving  Miss  Williams  a  hand- 
some legacy,  carefully  explained  as  being  given 
"  in  gratitude  for  her  care  of  his  children,"  he  had 
chosen  her  as  their  guardian,  until  they  came  of 
age,  or  married,  entreating  her  to  reside  with  them, 
and  desiring  them  to  pay  her  all  the  respect  due  to 
"a  near  and  dear  relative."  The  tenderness  with 
which  he  had  arranged  every  thing,  down  to  the 
minutest  points,  for  them  and  herself,  even  amidst 
all  his  bodily  sufferings,  and  in  face  of  the  supreme 
hour — which  he  had  met,  his  daughters  said,  with 
a  marvelous  calmness,  even  joy — touched  Fortune 
as  perhaps  nothing  had  ever  touched  her  in  all  her 
life  before.  When  she  stood  with  her  two  poor 
orphans  beside  their  father's  grave,  and  returned 
with  them  to  the  desolate  house,  vowing  within 
herself  to  be  to  them,  all  but  in  name,  the  mother 
he  had  wished  her  to  be,  this  sense  of  duty — the 
strange  new  duty  which  had  suddenly  come  to  fill 
her  empty  life — was  so  strong  that  she  forgot  ev- 
ery thing  else — even  Eobert  Roy. 

And  for  months  afterward — months  of  anxious 
business,  involving  the  leaving  of  the  rectory,  and 


102  THE   LAUREL  BUSH. 

the  taking  of  a  temporary  house  in  the  village,  un- 
til they  could  decide  where  finally  to  settle — Miss 
Williams  had  scarcely  a  moment  or  a  thought  to 
spare  for  any  beyond  the  vivid  present.  Past  and 
future  faded  away  together,  except  so  far  as  con- 
cerned her  girls. 

"  Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do,  do  it  with 
thy  might,"  were  words  which  had  helped  her 
through  many  a  dark  time.  Now,  with  all  her 
might,  she  did  her  motherly  duty  to  the  orphan 
girls,  and  as  she  did  so,  by -and -by  she  began 
strangely  to  enjoy  it,  and  to  find  also  not  a  little 
of  motherly  pride  and  pleasure  in  them.  She  had 
no  time  to  think  of  herself  at  all,  or  of  the  great 
blow  which  had  fallen,  the  great  change  which  had 
come,  rendering  it  impossible  for  her  to  let  herself 
feel  as  she  had  used  to  feel,  dream  as  she  used  to 
dream,  for  years  and  years  past.  That  one  pathet- 
ic line, 

"I  darena  think  o'  Jamie,  for  that  wad  be  a  sin," 

burned  itself  into  her  heart,  and  needed  nothing 
more. 

"My  children!  I  must  only  love  my  children 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  103 

now,"  was  her  continual  thought,  and  she  believed 
she  did  so. 

It  was  not  until  spring  came,  healing  the  girls' 
grief  as  naturally  as  it  covered  their  father's  grave 
with  violets  and  primroses,  and  making  them  cling 
a  little  less  to  home  and  her,  a  little  more  to  the 
returning  pleasures  of  their  youth,  for  they  were 
two  pretty  girls,  well-born,  with  tolerable  fortunes, 
and  likely  to  be  much  sought  after — not  until  the 
spring  days  left  her  much  alone,  did  Fortune's 
mind  recur  to  an  idea  which  had  struck  her  once, 
and  then  been  set  aside — to  write  to  Kobert  Eoy. 
Why  should  she  not?  Just  a  few  friendly  lines, 
telling  him  how,  after  long  years,  she  had  seen  his 
name  in  the  papers ;  how  sorry  she  was,  and  yet 
glad — glad  to  think  he  was  alive  and  well,  and 
married;  how  she  sent  all  kindly  wishes  to  his 
wife  and  himself,  and  so  on.  In  short,  the  sort  of 
letter  that  any  body  might  write  or  receive,  what- 
ever had  been  the  previous  link  between  them. 

And  she  wrote  it,  on  an  April  day,  one  of  those 
first  days  of  spring  which  make  young  hearts  throb 
with  a  vague  delight,  a  nameless  hope ;  and  older 
ones — but  is  there  any  age  when  hope  is  quite 


104  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

dead  ?  I  think  not,  even  to  those  who  know  that 
the  only  spring  that  will  ever  come  to  them  will 
dawn  in  the  world  everlasting. 

When  her  girls,  entering,  offered  to  post  her  let- 
ter, and  Miss  Williams  answered  gently  that  she 
would  rather  post  it  herself,  as  it  required  a  foreign 
stamp,  how  little  they  guessed  all  that  lay  under- 
neath, and  how,  over  the  first  few  lines,  her  hand 
had  shaken  so  that  she  had  to  copy  it  three  times. 
But  the  address,  "Kobert  Koy,  Esquire,  Shanghai" 
— all  she  could  put,  but  she  had  little  doubt  it 
would  find  him — was  written  with  that  firm,  clear 
hand  which  he  had  so  often  admired,  saying  he 
wished  she  could  teach  his  boys  to  write  as  well. 
Would  he  recognize  it?  Would  he  be  glad  or 
sorry,  or  only  indifferent?  Had  the  world  changed 
him  ?  or,  if  she  could  look  at  him  now,  would  he 
be  the  same  Eobert  Eoy — simple,  true,  sincere,  and 
brave — every  inch  a  man  and  a  gentleman  ? 

For  the  instant  the  old  misery  came  back ;  the 
sharp,  sharp  pain ;  but  she  smothered  it  down. 
His  dead  child — his  living,  unknown  wife — came 
between,  with  their  soft,  ghostly  hands.  He  was 
still  himself;  she  hoped,  absolutely  unchanged; 


AN   OLD-FASHIONED   LOVE   STORY.  105 

but  he  was  hers  no  more.  Yet,  that  strange  yearn- 
ing, the  same  which  had  impelled  Mr.  Moseley  to 
write,  and  say,  "  Come  and  see  me  before  I  die," 
seemed  impelling  her  to  stretch  a  hand  out  across 
the  seas — "  Have  you  forgotten  me  ?  I  have  never 
forgotten  you."  As  she  passed  through  the  church- 
yard on  her  way  to  the  village,  and  saw  the  rec- 
tor's grave  lie  smiling  in  the  evening  sunshine, 
Fortune  thought  what  a  strange  lot  hers  had  been. 
The  man  who  had  loved  her,  the  man  whom  she 
had  loved,  were  equally  lost  to  her ;  equally  dead 
and  buried.  And  yet  she  lived  still  —  her  busy, 
active,  and  not  unhappy  life.  It  was  God's  will, 
all;  and  it  was  best. 

Another  six  months  went  by,  and  she  still  re- 
mained in  the  same  place,  though  talking  daily  of 
leaving.  They  began  to  go  into  society  again,  she 
and  her  girls,  and  to  receive  visitors  now  and  then  : 
among  the  rest,  David  Dalziel,  who  had  preserved 
his  affectionate  fidelity  even  when  he  went  back  to 
college,  and  had  begun  to  discover  somehow  that 
the  direct  road  from  Oxford  to  everywhere  was 
through  this  secluded  village.  I  arn  afraid  Miss 
Williams  was  not  as  alive  as  she  ought  to  have 


106  THE   LAUKEL  BUSH. 

been  to  this  fact,  and  to  the  other  fact  that  Helen 
and  Janetta  were  not  quite  children  now ;  but  she 
let  the  young  people  be  happy,  and  was  happy 
with  them,  after  her  fashion.  Still,  hers  was  less 
happiness  than  peace;  the  deep  peace  which  a 
storm-tossed  vessel  finds  when  kindly  fate  has  towed 
it  into  harbor;  with  torn  sails  and  broken  masts, 
may  be,  but  still  safe,  never  needing  to  go  to  sea 
any  more. 

She  had  come  to  that  point  in  life  when  we  cease 
to  be  "  afraid  of  evil  tidings ;"  since  nothing  is  like- 
ly to  happen  to  us  beyond  what  has  happened. 
She  told  herself  that  she  did  not  look  forward  to 
the  answer  from  Shanghai,  if,  indeed,  any  came; 
nevertheless,  she  had  ascertained  what  time  the  re- 
turn mail  would  be  likely  to  bring  it.  And,  al- 
most punctual  to  the  day,  a  letter  arrived  with 
the  postmark  "  Shanghai."  Not  his  letter,  nor  his 
hand-writing  at  all.  And,  besides,  it  was  address- 
ed to  " Mrs.  Williams." 

A  shudder  of  fear,  the  only  fear  which  could 
strike  her  now — that  he  might  be  dead — made 
Fortune  stand  irresolute  a  moment :  then  go  up  to 
her  own  room  before  she  opened  it. 


AN   OLD-FASHIONED   LOVE  STORY.  107 

"  MADAM, — I  beg  to  apologize  for  having  read 
nearly  through  your  letter  before  comprehending 
that  it  was  not  meant  for  me,  but  probably  for  an- 
other Mr.  Kobert  Eoy,  who  left  this  place  not  long 
after  I  came  here,  and  between  whom  and  myself 
some  confusion  arose,  till  we  became  intimate,  and 
discovered  that  we  were  most  likely  distant,  very 
distant,  cousins.  He  came  from  St  Andrews,  and 
was  head  clerk  in  a  firm  here,  doing  a  very  good 
business  in  tea  and  silk,  until  they  mixed  them- 
selves up  in  the  opium  trade,  which  Mr.  Roy,  with 
one  or  two  more  of  our  community  here,  thought 
so  objectionable  that  at  last  he  threw  up  his  situa- 
tion, and  determined  to  seek  his  fortunes  in  Aus- 
tralia. It  was  a  pity,  for  he  was  in  a  good  way 
to  get  on  rapidly  ;  but  every  body  who  knew  him 
agreed  it  was  just  the  sort  of  thing  he  was  sure 
to  do,  and  some  respected  him  highly  for  doing  it. 
He  was  indeed  what  we  Scotch  call  '  weel  respeck- 
it'  wherever  he  went.  But  he  was  a  reserved 
man  :  made  few  intimate  friends,  though  those  he 
did  make  were  warmly  attached  to  him.  My  fam- 
ily were;  and  though  it  is  now  five  years  since  we 


108  THE  LAUEEL  BUSH. 

have  heard  any  thing  of  or  from  him,  we  remem- 
ber him  still." 

Five  years!  The  letter  dropped  from  her 
hands.  Lost  and  found,  yet  found  and  lost.  What 
might  not  have  happened  to  him  in  five  years? 
But  she  read  on,  dry-eyed :  women  do  not  weep 
very  much  or  very  easily  at  her  age. 

"I  will  do  my  utmost,  madam,  that  your  letter 
shall  reach  the  hands  for  which  I  am  sure  it  was 
intended ;  but  that  may  take  some  time,  my  only 
clue  to  Mr.  Eoy's  whereabouts  being  the  chance 
that  he  has  left  his  address  with  our  branch  house 
at  Melbourne.  I  can  not  think  he  is  dead,  because 
such  tidings  pass  rapidly  from  one  to  another  in 
our  colonial  communities,  and  he  was  too  much 
beloved  for  his  death  to  excite  no  concern. 

"  I  make  this  long  explanation  because  it  strikes 
me  you  may  be  a  lady,  a  friend  or  relative  of  Mr. 
Eoy's,  concerning  whom  he  employed  me  to  make 
some  inquiries,  only  you  say  so  very  little — abso- 
lutely nothing — of  yourself  in  your  letter,  that  I 
can  not  be  at  all  certain  if  you  are  the  same  person. 
She  was  a  governess  in  a  family  named  Dalziel, 
living  at  St.  Andrews.  He  said  he  had  written  to 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   LOVE  STORY.  109 

that  family  repeatedly,  but  got  no  answer,  and  then 
asked  me,  if  any  thing  resulted  from  my  inquiries, 
to  write  to  him  to  the  care  of  our  Melbourne  house. 
But  no  news  ever  came,  and  I  never  wrote  to  him, 
for  which  my  wife  still  blames  me  exceedingly. 
She  thanks  you,  dear  madam,  for  the  kind  things 
you  say  about  our  poor  child,  though  meant  for 
another  person.  We  have  seven  boys,  but  little 
Bell  was  our  youngest,  and  our  hearts'  delight. 
She  died  after  six  hours'  illness. 

"Again  begging  you  to  pardon  my  unconscious 
offense  in  reading  a  stranger's  letter,  and  the  length 
of  this  one,  I  remain,  your  very  obedient  servant, 

"  E.  EOY. 

"P.S.—  I  ought  to  say  that  this  Mr.  Eobert  Eoy 
seemed  between  thirty -five  and  forty,  tall,  dark- 
haired,  walked  with  a  slight  stoop.  He  had,  I  be- 
lieve, no  near  relatives  whatever,  and  I  never 
heard  of  his  having  been  married." 

Unquestionably  Miss  Williams  did  well  in  retir- 
ing to  her  chamber  and  locking  the  door  before  she 
opened  the  letter.  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that 
at  thirty -five  or  forty — or  what  age? — women  cease 


110  THE   LAUKEL   BUSH. 

to  feel.  I  once  was  walking  with,  an  old  maiden 
lady,  talking  of  a  character  in  a  book.  "He  re- 
minded me,"  she  said,  "  of  the  very  best  man  I 
ever  knew,  whom  I  saw  a  good  deal  of  when  I  was 
a  girl ;"  and  to  the  natural  question,  was  he  alive, 
she  answered,  "No;  he  died  while  he  was  still 
young."  Her  voice  kept  its  ordinary  tone,  but 
there  came  a  slight  flush  on  the  cheek,  a  sudden 
quiver  over  the  whole  withered  face  —  she  was 
some  years  past  seventy — and  I  felt  I  could  not 
say  another  word. 

Nor  shall  I  say  a  word  now  of  Fortune  Wil- 
liams, when  she  had  read  through  and  wholly  taken 
in  the  contents  of  this  letter. 

Life  began  for  her  again — life  on  a  new  and  yet 
on  the  old  basis ;  for  it  was  still  waiting,  waiting — 
she  seemed  to  be  among  those  whose  lot  it  is  to 
"stand  and  wait"  all  their  days.  But  it  was  not 
now  in  that  absolute  darkness  and  silence  which  it 
used  to  be.  She  knew  that  in  all  human  proba- 
bility Eobert  Koy  was  alive  still  somewhere,  and 
hope  never  could  wholly  die  out  of  the  world  so 
long  as  he  was  in  it.  His  career,  too,  if  not  prosper- 
ous in  worldly  things,  had  been  one  to  make  any 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   LOVE  STORY.  Ill 

heart  that  loved  him  content — content  and  proud. 
For  if  he  had  failed  in  his  fortunes,  was  it  not  from 
doing  what  she  would  most  have  wished  him  to 
do — the  right,  at  all  costs?  Nor  had  he  quite  for- 
gotten her,  since  even  so  late  as  five  years  back 
he  had  been  making  inquiries  about  her.  Also,  he 
was  then  unmarried. 

But  human  nature  is  weak,  and  human  hearts 
are  so  hungry  sometimes. 

"Oh,  if  he  had  only  loved  me,  and  told  me  so!" 
she  said  sometimes,  as  piteously  as  fifteen  years 
ago.  But  the  tears  which  followed  were  not,  as 
then,  a  storm  of  passionate  despair — only  a  quiet, 
sorrowful  rain. 

For  what  could  she  do?  Nothing.  Now,  as 
ever,  her  part  seemed  just  to  fold  her  hands  and 
endure.  If  alive,  he  might  be  found  some  day ; 
but  now  she  could  not  find  him — oh,  if  she  could ! 
Had  she  been  the  man  and  he  the  woman — nay, 
had  she  been  still  herself,  a  poor,  lonely  governess, 
having  to  earn  every  crumb  of  her  own  bitter 
bread,  yet  knowing  that  he  loved  her,  might  not 
things  have  been  different  ?  Had  she  belonged  to 
him,  they  would  never  have  lost  one  another.  She 


112  THE   LAUREL  BUSH. 

would  have  sought  him,  as  Evangeline  sought  Ga- 
briel, half  the  world  over. 

And  little  did  her  two  girls  imagine  as  they  call- 
ed her  down-stairs  that  night,  secretly  wondering 
what  important  business  could  make  "Auntie" 
keep  tea  waiting  fully  five  minutes,-  and  set  her 
after  tea  to  read  some  of  the  "pretty  poetry,"  es- 
pecially Longfellow's,  which  they  had  a  fancy  for — 
little  did  they  think,  those  two  happy  creatures, 
listening  to  their  middle-aged  governess,  who  read 
so  well  that  sometimes  her  voice  actually  faltered 
over  the  lines,  how  there  was  being  transacted  un- 
der their  very  eyes  a  story  which  in  its  "  constant 
anguish  of  patience"  was  scarcely  less  pathetic 
than  that  of  Acadia. 

For  nearly  a  year  after  that  letter  came,  the  lit- 
tle family  of  which  Miss  Williams  was  the  head 
went  on  in  its  innocent,  quiet  way,  always  plan- 
ning, yet  never  making  a  change,  until  driven  to 
it  at  last  by  fate.  Neither  Helen  nor  Janetta  was 
very  healthy,  and  at  last  a  London  doctor  gave  as 
his  absolute  fiat  that  the  girls  must  cease  to  live  in 
their  warm  inland  village,  and  migrate,  for  some 
years,  at  any  rate,  to  a  bracing  sea-side  place. 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STOEY.  113 

Whereupon  David  Dalziel,  who  had  somehow 
established  himself  as  the  one  masculine  adviser 
of  the  family,  suggested  St.  Andrews.  Bracing 
enough  it  was,  at  any  rate:  he  remembered  the 
winds  used  almost  to  cut  his  nose  off.  And  it  was 
such  a  nice  place  too — so  pretty,  with  such  excel- 
lent society.  He  was  sure  the  young  ladies  would 
find  it  delightful.  Did  Miss  Williams  remember  the 
walk  by  the  shore,  and  the  golfing  across  the  Links? 

"Quite  as  well  as  you  could  have  done  at  the 
early  age  of  seven,"  she  suggested,  smiling.  "  Why 
are  you  so  very  anxious  we  should  go  to  live  at 
St.  Andrews  ?" 

The  young  fellow  blushed  all  over  his  kindly, 
eager  face,  and  then  frankly  owned  he  had  a  mo- 
tive. His  grandmother's  cottage,  which  she  had 
left  to  him,  the  youngest  and  her  pet  always,  was 
now  unlet.  He  meant  perhaps  to  go  and  live  at  it 
himself,  when— when  he  was  of  age  and  could  af- 
ford it ;  but  in  the  mean  time  he  was  a  poor  soli- 
tary bachelor;  and — and — 

"And  you  would  like  us  to  keep  your  nest 
warm  for  you  till  you  can  claim  it  ?  You  want  us 
for  your  tenants,  eh,  Davie  ?" 


114  THE   LAUREL  BUSH. 

"  Just  that.  You've  hit  it.  Couldn't  wish  bet- 
ter. In  fact,  I  have  already  written  to  my  trustees 
to  drive  the  hardest  bargain  possible." 

Which  was  an  ingenious  modification  of  the 
truth,  as  she  afterward  found;  but  evidently  the 
lad  had  set  his  heart  upon  the  thing.  And  she? 

At  first  she  had  shrunk  back  from  the  plan  with 
a  shiver  almost  of  fear.  It  was  like  having  to 
meet  face  to  face  something — some  one — long  dead. 
To  walk  among  the  old  familiar  places,  to  see  the 
old  familiar  sea  and  shore — nay,  to  live  in  the  very 
same  house,  haunted,  as  houses  are  sometimes, 
every  room  and  every  nook,  with  ghosts,  yet  with 
such  innocent  ghosts —  Could  she  bear  it  ? 

There  are  some  people  who  have  an  actual  terror 
of  the  past — who,  the  moment  a  thing  ceases  to 
be  pleasurable,  fly  from  it,  would  willingly  bury  it 
out  of  sight  forever.  But  others  have  no  fear  of 
their  harmless  dead — dead  hopes,  memories,  loves 
— can  sit  by  a  grave-side,  or  look  behind  them  at 
a  dim,  spectral  shape,  without  grief,  without  dread, 
only  with  tenderness.  This  woman  could. 

After  a  long,  wakeful  night,  spent  in  very  serious 
thought  for  every  one's  good,  not  excluding  her 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  115 

own — since  there  is  a  certain  point  beyond  which 
one  has  no  right  to  forget  one's  self,  and  perpetual 
martyrs  rarely  make  very  pleasant  heads  of  fami- 
lies— she  said  to  her  girls  next  morning  that  she 
thought  David  Dalziel's  brilliant  idea  had  a  great 
deal  of  sense  in  it ;  St.  Andrews  was  a  very  nice 
place,  and  the  cottage  there  would  exactly  suit 
their  finances,  while  the  tenure  upon  which  he  pro- 
posed they  should  hold  it  (from  term  to  term) 
would  also  fit  in  with  their  undecided  future;  be- 
cause, as  all  knew,  whenever  Helen  or  Janetta  mar- 
ried, each  would  just  take  her  fortune  and  go,  leav- 
ing Miss  Williams  with  her  little  legacy,  above 
want  certainly,  but  not  exactly  a  millionaire. 

These  and  other  points  she  set  before  them  in 
her  practical  fashion,  just  as  if  her  heart  did  not 
leap  —  sometimes  with  pleasure,  sometimes  with 
pain — at  the  very  thought  of  St.  Andrews,  and  as 
if  to  see  herself  sit  daily  and  hourly  face  to  face 
with  her  old  self,  the  ghost  of  her  own  youth,  would 
be  a  quite  easy  thing. 

The  girls  were  delighted.  They  left  all  to  auntie, 
as  was  their  habit  to  do.  Burdens  naturally  fall 
upon  the  shoulders  fitted  for  them,  and  which 


116  THE  LAUKEL  BUSH. 

seem  even  to  have  a  faculty  for  drawing  them 
down  there.  Miss  Williams's  new  duties  had  de- 
veloped in  her  a  whole  range  of  new  qualities,  dor- 
mant during  her  governess  life.  Nobody  knew 
better  than  she  how  to  manage  a  house  and  guide 
a  family.  The  girls  soon  felt  that  auntie  might 
have  been  a  mother  all  her  days,  she  was  so  thor- 
oughly motherly,  and  they  gave  up  every  thing 
into  her  hands. 

So  the  whole  matter  was  settled,  David  rejoicing 
exceedingly,  and  considering  it  "jolly  fun,"  and 
quite  like  a  bit  out  of  a  play,  that  his  former  gov- 
erness should  come  back  as  his  tenant,  and  inhabit 
the  old  familiar  cottage. 

"And  I'll  take  a  run  over  to  see  you  as  soon  as 
the  long  vacation  begins,  just  to  teach  the  young 
ladies  golfing.  Mr.  Eoy  taught  all  us  boys,  you 
know;  and  we'll  take  that  very  walk  he  used  to 
take  us,  across  the  Links  and  along  the  sands  to 
the  Eden.  Wasn't  it  the  river  Eden,  Miss  Wil- 
liams? I  am  sure  I  remember  it.  I  think  I  am 
very  good  at  remembering.'' 

"Very." 

Other  people  were  also  "  good  at  remembering." 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  117 

During  the  first  few  weeks  after  they  settled  down 
at  St.  Andrews,  the  girls  noticed  that  auntie  be- 
came excessively  pale,  and  was  sometimes  quite 
"distrait"  and  bewildered-looking,  which  was  lit- 
tle wonder,  considering  all  she  had  to  do  and  to 
arrange.  But  she  got  better  in  time.  The  cottage 
was  so  sweet,  the  sea  so  fresh,  the  whole  place  so 
charming.  Slowly  Miss  Williams's  ordinary  look 
returned — the  "  good  "  looks  which  her  girls  so  en- 
ergetically protested  she  had  now,  if  never  before. 
They  never  allowed  her  to  confess  herself  old  by 
caps  or  shawls,  or  any  of  those  pretty  temporary 
hinderances  to  the  march  of  Time.  She  resisted 
not ;  she  let  them  dress  her  as  they  pleased,  in  a 
reasonable  way,  for  she  felt  they  loved  her ;  and 
as  to  her  age,  why,  she  knew  it,  and  kne^  that  noth- 
ing could  alter  it,  so  what  did  it  matter?  She 
smiled,  and  tried  to  look  as  nice  and  as  young  as 
she  could,  for  her  girls'  sake. 

I  suppose  there  are  such  things  as  broken  or 
breaking  hearts,  even  at  St.  Andrews,  but  it  is  cer- 
tainly not  a  likely  place  for  them.  They  have  lit- 
tle chance  against  the  fresh,  exhilarating  air,  strong 
as  new  wine;  the  wild  sea-waves,  the  soothing 


118  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

sands,  giving  with  health,  of  body  wholesomeness 
of  mind.  By-and-by  the  busy  world  recovered  its 
old  face  to  Fortune  Williams — not  the  world  as 
she  once  dreamed  of  it,  but  the  real  world,  as  she 
had  fought  through  it  all  these  years. 

"I  was  ever  a  fighter,  so  one  fight  more!"  as  she 
read  sometimes  in  the  "  pretty  "  poetry  her  girls 
were  always  asking  for — read  steadily,  even  when 
she  came  to  the  last  verse  in  that  passionate  "Pros- 
pice:" 

"Till,  sudden,  the  worst  turns  the  best  to  the  brave, 

The  black  minute's  at  end ; 
And  the  elements  rage,  the  fiend  voices  that  rave 

Shall  dwindle,  shall  blend, 
Shall  change,  shall  become  first  a  peace,  then  a  joy, 

Then  a  light — then  thy  breast, 
O  thou  soul  of  my  soul !  I  shall  clasp  thee  again, 

And  with  God  be  the  rest!" 

To  that  life  to  come,  during  all  the  burden  and 
heat  of  the  day  (no,  the  afternoon,  a  time,  faded, 
yet  hot  and  busy  still,  which  is  often  a  very  trying 
bit  of  woman's  life),  she  now  often  began  yearning- 
ly to  look.  To  meet  him  again,  even  in' old  age, 
or  with  death  between,  was  her  only  desire.  Yet 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  119 

she  did  her  duty  still,  and  enjoyed  all  she  could, 
knowing  that  one  by  one  the  years  were  hurrying 
onward,  and  the  night  coming  "  in  which  no  man 
can  work." 

Faithful  to  his  promise,  about  the  middle  of 
July  David  Dalziel  appeared,  in  overflowing  spir- 
its, having  done  very  well  at  college.  He  was 
such  a  boy  still,  in  character  and  behavior;  though 
— as  he  carefully  informed  the  family — now  twen- 
ty-one and  a  man,  expecting  to  be  treated  as  such. 
He  was  their  landlord  too,  and  drew  up  the  agree- 
ment in  his  own  name,  meaning  to  be  a  lawyer, 
and  having  enough  to  live  on — something  better 
than  bread  and  salt,  "  till  I  can  earn  a  fortune,  as  I 
certainly  mean  to  do,  some  day." 

And  he  looked  at  Janetta,  who  looked  down  on 
the  parlor  carpet — as  young  people  will.  Alas !  I 
fear  that  the  eyes  of  her  anxious  friend  and  gov- 
erness were  not  half  wide  enough  open  to  the  fact 
that  these  young  folk  were  no  longer  boys  and 
girls,  and  that  things  might  happen — in  fact,  were 
almost  certain  to  happen — which  had  happened  to 
herself  in  her  youth — making  life  not  quite  so  easy 
to  her  as  it  seemed  to  be  to  these  two  bright  girls. 


120  THE   LAUKEL  BUSH. 

Yet  they  were  so  bright,  and  their  relations  with 
David  Dalziel  were  so  frank  and  free — in  fact,  the 
young  fellow  himself  was  such  a  thoroughly  good 
fellow,  so  very  difficult  to  shut  her  door  against, 
even  if  she  had  thought  of  so  doing.  But  she  did 
not  She  let  him  come  and  go,  "  miserable  bache- 
lor" as  he  proclaimed  himself,  with  all  his  kith 
and  kin  across  the  seas,  and  cast  not  a  thought  to 
the  future,  or  to  the  sad  necessity  which  sometimes 
occurs  to  parents  and  guardians — of  shutting  the 
stable  door  after  the  steed  is  stolen. 

Especially  as,  not  long  after  David  appeared, 
there  happened  a  certain  thing— a  very  small  thing 
to  all  but  her,  and  yet  to  her  it  was,  for  the  time 
being,  utterly  overwhelming.  It  absorbed  all  her 
thoughts  into  one  maddened  channel,  where  they 
writhed  and  raved  and  dashed  themselves  blindly 
against  inevitable  fate.  For  the  first  time  in  her 
life  this  patient  woman  felt  as  if  endurance  were 
not  the  right  thing;  as  if  wild  shrieks  of  pain,  bit- 
ter outcries  against  Providence,  would  be  somehow 
easier,  better:  might  reach  His  throne,  so  that  even 
now  He  might  listen  and  hear. 

The  thing  was  this.     One  day,  waiting  for  some 


AN   OLD-FASHIONED   LOVE  STORY.  121 

one  beside  the  laurel  bush  at  her  gate — the  old  fa- 
miliar bush,  though  it  had  grown  and  grown  till 
its  branches,  which  used  to  drag  on  the  gravel,  now 
covered  the  path  entirely — she  overheard  David 
explaining  to  Janetta  how  he  and  his  brothers  and 
Mr.  Eoy  had  made  the  wtfoden  letter-box,  which 
actually  existed  still,  though  in  very  ruinous  con- 
dition. 

"And  no  wonder,  after  fifteen  years  and  more. 
It  is  fully  that  old,  isn't  it,  Miss  Williams  ?  You 
will  have  to  superannuate  it  shortly,  and*  return  to 
the  old  original  letter-box — my  letter-box,  which 
I  remember  so  well.  I  do  believe  I  could  find  it 
still." 

Kneeling  down,  he  thrust  his  hand  through  the 
thick  barricade  of  leaves,  into  the  very  heart  of 
the  tree. 

"I've  found  it!  I  declare  I've  found  it!  the 
identical  hole  in  the  trunk  where  I  used  to  put  all 
my  treasures — my  "  magpie's  nest,"  as  they  called 
it,  where  I  hid  every  thing  I  could  find.  What  a 
mischievous  young  scamp  I  was!" 

"Very,"  said  Miss  Williams,  affectionately,  lay- 
ing a  gentle  hand  on  his  curls — "pretty"  still, 


122  THE   LAUREL  BUSH. 

though  cropped  down  to  the  frightful  modern  fash- 
ion. Secretly  she  was  rather  proud  of  him,  this 
tall  young  fellow,  whom  she  had  had  on  her  lap 
many  a  time. 

"Curious!  It  all  comes  back  to  me — even  to 
the  very  last  thing  I  hid  here,  the  day  before  we 
left — which  was  a  letter." 

"A  letter!"— Miss  Williams  slightly  started— 
"  what  letter?" 

"  One  I  found  lying  under  the  laurel  bush,  quite 
hidden  by  its  leaves.  It  was  all  soaked  with  rain  ; 
I  dried  it  in  the  sun,  and  then  put  it  in  my  letter- 
box, telling  nobody,  for  I  meant  to  deliver  it  my- 
self at  the  hall-door,  with  a  loud  ring — an  English 
postman's  ring.  Our  Scotch  one  used  to  blow  his 
horn,  you  remember?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Williams.  She  was  leaning 
against  the  fatal  bush,  pale  to  the  very  lips,  but  her 
veil  was  down ;  nobody  saw.  "  What  sort  of  a 
letter  was  it,  David?  Who  was  it  to?  Did  you 
notice  the  hand-writing?" 

"Why,  I  was  such  a  little  fellow,"  and  he  look- 
ed up  in  wonder  and  slight  concern.  "How  could 
I  remember?  Some  letter  that  somebody  had 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STOEY.  123 

dropped,  perhaps,  in  taking  the  rest  out  of  the  box. 
It  could  not  matter — certainly  not  now.  You 
would  not  bring  my  youthful  misdeeds  up  against 
me,  would  you  ?"  And  he  turned  up  a  half-com- 
ical, half-pitiful  face. 

Fortune's  first  impulse — what  was  it?  She  hard- 
ly knew.  But  her  second  was  that  safest,  easiest 
thing — now  grown  into  the  habit  and  refuge  of  her 
whole  life — silence. 

"  No,  it  certainly  does  not  matter  now." 

A  deadly  sickness  came  over  her.  What  if  this 
letter  were  Eobert  Eoy's,  asking  her  that  question 
which,  he  said,  no  man  ought  ever  to  ask  a  woman 
twice?  And  she  had  never  seen  it — never  an- 
swered it.  So,  of  course,  he  went  away.  Her 
whole  life — nay,  two  whole  lives — had  been  de- 
stroyed, and  by  a  mere  accident — the  aimless  mis- 
chief of  a  child's  innocent  hand.  She  could  never 
prove  it,  but  it  might  have  been  so.  And,  alas! 
alas!  God,  the  merciful  God,  had  allowed  it  to  be 
so! 

Which  is  the  worst,  to  wake  up  suddenly  and 
find  that  our  life  has  been  wrecked  by  our  own 
folly,  mistake,  or  sin ;  or  that  it  has  been  done  for 

6 


124:  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

us,  either  directly  by  the  hand  of  Providence,  or  in- 
directly through  some  innocent — nay,  possibly  not 
innocent,  but  intentional  hand  ?  In  both  cases,  the 

0 

agony  is  equally  sharp — the  sharper  because  irre- 
mediable. 

All  these  thoughts,  vivid  as  lightning,  and  as 
rapid,  darted  through  poor  Fortune's  brain  during 
the  few  moments  that  she  stood  with  her  hand  on 
David's  shoulder,  while  he  drew  from  his  magpie's 
nest  a  heterogeneous  mass  of  rubbish  —  pebbles, 
snail-shells,  bits  of  glass  and  china,  fragments  even 
of  broken  toys. 

* '  Just  look  there !  What  ghosts  of  my  childhood, 
as  people  would  say !  Dead  and  buried,  though." 
And  he  laughed  merrily — he  in  the  full  tide  and 
glory  of  his  youth. 

Fortune  Williams  looked  down  on  his  happy 
face — this  lad  that  really  loved  her,  would  not  have 
hurt  her  for  the  world ;  and  her  determination  was 
made.  He  should  never  know  any  thing.  No- 
body should  ever  know  any  thing.  The  "  dead  and 
buried  "  of  fifteen  years  ago  must  be  dead  and  bur- 
ied forever. 

"David,"  she  said,  "just   out  of  curiosity,  put 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE   STORY.  125 

your  hand  down  to  the  very  bottom  of  that  hole, 
and  see  if  you  can  fish  up  the  mysterious  let- 
ter." 

Then  she  waited,  just  as  one  would  wait  at  the 
edge  of  some  long-closed  grave,  to  see  if  the  dead 
could  possibly  be  claimed  as  our  dead,  even  if  but 
a  handful  of  unhonored  bones. 

No,  it  was  not  possible.  Nobody  could  expect 
it,  after  such  a  lapse  of  time.  Something  David 
pulled  out — it  might  be  paper,  it  might  be  rags. 
It  was  too  dry  to  be  moss  or  earth,  but  no  one 
could  have  recognized  it  as  a  letter. 

"  Give  it  me,"  said  Miss  Williams,  holding  out 
her  hand. 

David  put  the  little  heap  of  "  rubbish  "  therein. 
She  regarded  it  a  moment,  and  then  scattered  it  on 
the  ground — "  dust  to  dust,"  as  we  say  in  our  fu- 
neral service.  But  she  said  nothing. 

At  that  moment  the  young  people  they  were 
waiting  for  came  to  the  other  side  of  the  gate,  clubs 
in  hand.  David  and  the  two  Miss  Moseleys  had 
by  this  time  become  perfectly  mad  for  golf,  as  is 
the  fashion  of  the  place.  They  proceeded  across 
the  Links,  Miss  Williams  accompanying  them,  as 


126  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

in  duty  bound.  But  she  said  she  was  rather 
"  tired,"  and,  leaving  them  in  charge  of  another 
chaperon — if  chaperons  are  ever  wanted,  or  need- 
ed, in  those  merry  Links  of  St.  Andrews — came 
home  alone. 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  127 


CHAPTEK  Y. 

"  Shall  sharpest  pathos  blight  us,  doing  no  wrong?" 

OO  writes  our  greatest  living  poet,  in  one  of 
the  noblest  poems  he  ever  penned.     And  he 
speaks  truth.     The  real  canker  of  human  existence 
is  not  misery,  but  sin. 

After  the  first  cruel  pang,  the  bitter  wail  after 
her  lost  life — and  we  have  here  but  one  life  to 
lose! — her  lost  happiness,  for  she  knew  now  that 
though  she  might  be  very  peaceful,  very  content, 
no  real  happiness  ever  had  come,  ever  could  come 
to  her  in  this  world,  except  Eobert  Eoy's  love — 
after  this,  Fortune  sat  down,  folded  her  hands,  and 
bowed  her  head  to  the  waves  of  sorrow  that  kept 
sweeping  over  her,  not  for  one  day  or  two  days, 
but  for  many  days  and  weeks — the  anguish,  not  of 
patience,  but  regret — sharp,  stinging,  helpless  re- 
gret. They  came  rolling  in  —  those  remorseless 
billows — just  like  the  long  breakers  on  the  sands 


128  THE  LAUKEL  BUSH. 

of  St.  Andrews.  Hopeless  to  resist,  she  could  only 
crouch  down  and  let  them  pass.  "All  Thy  waves 
have  gone  over  me." 

Of  course,  this  is  spoken  metaphorically.  Out- 
wardly, Miss  Williams  neither  sat  still,  nor  folded 
her  hands.  She  was  seen  everywhere  as  usual, 
her  own  proper  self,  as  the  world  knew  it ;  but  un- 
derneath all  that  was  the  self  that  she  knew,  and 
God  knew.  No  one  else.  No  one  ever  could  have 
known,  except  Eobert  Eoy,  had  things  been  dif- 
ferent from  what  they  were,  from  what  God  had 
apparently  willed  them  to  be. 

A  sense  of  inevitable  fate  came  over  her.  It 
was  now  nearly  two  years  since  that  letter  from 
Mr.  Roy,  of  Shanghai,  and  no  more  tidings  had 
reached  her.  She  began  to  think  none  ever  would 
reach  her  now.  She  ceased  to  hope  or  to  fear,  but 
let  herself  drift  on,  accepting  the  small,  pale  pleas- 
ures of  every  day,  and  never  omitting  one  of  its 
duties.  One  only  thought  remained,  which,  con- 
trasted with  the  darkness  of  all  else,  often  gleamed 
out  as  an  actual  joy. 

If  the  lost  letter  really  was  Robert  Roy's — and 
though  she  had  no  positive  proof,  she  had  the 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE   STORY.  129 

strongest  conviction,  remembering  the  thick  fog 
of  that  Tuesday  morning,  how  easily  Archy  might 
have  dropped  it  out  of  his  hand,  and  how,  dur- 
ing those  days  of  soaking  rain,  it  might  have  lain, 
unobserved  by  any  one,  under  the  laurel  branches 
till  the  child  picked  it  up  and  hid  it,  as  he  said — 
if  Eobert  Eoy  had  written  to  her — written  in  any 
way,  he  was,  at  least,  not  faithless.  And  he  might 
have  loved  her  then.  Afterward,  he  might  have 
married,  or  died ;  she  might  never  find  him  again 
in  this  world,  or  if  she  found  him,  he  might  be  to- 
tally changed  —  still,  whatever  happened,  he  had 
loved  her.  The  fact  remained.  No  power  in  earth 
or  heaven  could  alter  it. 

And  sometimes,  even  yet,  a  half -superstitious 
feeling  came  over  her  that  all  this  was  not  for 
nothing — the  impulse  which  had  impelled  her  to 
write  to  Shanghai,  the  other  impulse,  or  concatena- 
tion of  circumstances,  which  had  floated  her,  after 
so  many  changes,  back  to  the  old  place,  the  old  life. 
It  looked  like  chance,  but  was  it?  Is  any  thing 
chance?  Does  not  our  own  will,  soon  or  late,  ac- 
complish for  us  what  we  desire — that  is,  when  we 
try  to  reconcile  it  to  the  will  of  God  ? 


130  THE   LAUREL  BUSH. 

She  had  accepted  his  will  all  these  years,  seeing 
no  reason  for  it;  often  feeling  it  very  hard  and 
cruel,  but  still  accepting  it.  And  now —  ? 

I  am  writing  no  sensational  story.  In  it  are  no 
grand  dramatic  points;  no  Deus  ex  machind  ap- 
pears to  make  all  smooth ;  every  event — if  it  can 
boast  of  aught  so  large  as  an  event — follows  the 
other  in  perfectly  natural  succession.  For  I  have 
always  observed  that  in  life  there  are  rarely  any 
startling  "effects,"  but  gradual  evolutions.  Noth- 
ing happens  by  accident;  and,  the  premises  once 
granted,  nothing  happens  but  what  was  quite  sure 
to  happen,  following  those  premises.  We  novel- 
ists do  not  "make  up"  our  stories;  they  make 
themselves.  Nor  do  human  beings  invent  their 
own  lives ;  they  do  but  use  up  the  materials  given 
to  them — some  well,  some  ill ;  some  wisely,  some 
foolishly;  but  in  the  main,  the  dictum  of  the 
Preacher  is  not  far  from  the  truth,  "All  things 
come  alike  to  all." 

A  whole  winter  had  passed  by,  and  the  spring 
twilights  were  beginning  to  lengthen,  tempting 
Miss  Williams  and  her  girls  to  linger  another  half 
hour  before  they  lighted  the  lamp  for  the  evening. 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  131 

They  were  doing  so,  cozily  chatting  over  the  fire, 
after  the  fashion  of  a  purely  feminine  household, 
when  there  was  a  sudden  announcement  that  a  gen- 
tleman, with  two .  little  boys,  wanted  to  see  Miss 
Williams.  He  declined  to  give  his  name,  and  said 
he  would  not  detain  her  more  than  a  few  min- 
utes. 

"  Let  him  come  in  here,"  Fortune  was  just  about 
to  say,  when  she  reflected  that  it  might  be  some 
law  business  which  concerned  her  girls,  whom  she 
had  grown  so  tenderly  anxious  to  save  from  any 
trouble  and  protect  from  every  care.  "  No,  I  will 
go  and  speak  to  him  myself." 

She  rose  and  walked  quietly  into  the  parlor,  al- 
ready shadowed  into  twilight;  a  neat,  compact  lit- 
tle person,  dressed  in  soft  gray  home-spun,  with  a 
pale  pink  bow  on  her  throat,  and  another  in  her 
cap — a  pretty  little  fabric  of  lace  and  cambric, 
which,  being  now  the  fashion,  her  girls  had  at  last 
condescended  to  let  her  wear.  She  had  on  a  black 
silk  apron,  with  pockets,  into  one  of  which  she  had 
hastily  thrust  her  work,  and  her  thimble  was  yet 
on  her  finger.  This  was  the  figure  on  which  the 

eyes  of  the  gentleman  rested  as  he  turned  round. 

6* 


132  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

Miss  Williams  lifted  her  eyes  inquiringly  to  his 
face — a  bearded  face,  thin  and  dark. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  have  not  the  pleasure  of 
knowing  you ;  I — " 

She  suddenly  stopped.  Something  in  the  height, 
the  turn  of  the  head,  the  crisp  dark  hair,  in  which 
were  not  more  than  a  few  threads  of  gray,  while 
hers  had  so  many  now,  reminded  her  of — some 
one  the  bare  thought  of  whom  made  her  feel  dizzy 
and  blind. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  did  not  expect  you  would 
know  me;  and,  indeed,  until  I  saw  you,  I  was  not 
sure  you  were  the  right  Miss  Williams.  Possibly, 
you  may  remember  my  name — Roy,  Robert  Roy." 

Faces  alter,  manners,  gestures ;  but  the  one  thing 
which  never  changes  is  a  voice.  Had  Fortune 
heard  this  one — ay,  at  her  last  dying  hour,  when 
all  worldly  sounds  were  fading  away — she  would 
have  recognized  it  at  once. 

The  room  being  full  of  shadow,  no  one  could  see 
any  thing  distinctly  ;  and  it  was  as  well. 

In  another  minute  she  had  risen,  and  held  out 
her  hand. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Mr. Roy.     How 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STOKY.  133 

long  have  you  been  in  England  ?  Are  these  your 
little  boys?" 

Without  answering,  he  took  her  hand,  a  quiet, 
friendly  grasp,  just  as  it  used  to  be.  And  so,  with- 
out another  word,  the  gulf  of  fifteen — seventeen 
years  was  overleaped,  and  Kobert  Eoy  and  Fort- 
une Williams  had  met  once  more. 

If  any  body  had  told  her  when  she  rose  that 
morning  what  would  happen  before  night,  and  hap- 
pen so  naturally  too,  she  would  have  said  it  was 
impossible.  That  after  a  very  few  minutes,  she 
could  have  sat  there,  talking  to  him  as  to  any  or- 
dinary acquaintance,  seemed  incredible,  yet  it  was 
truly  so. 

"I  was  in  great  doubt  whether  the  Miss  Wil- 
liams who,  they  told  me,  lived  here  was  yourself, 
or  some  other  lady ;  but  I  thought  I  would  take 
the  chance.  Because,  were  it  yourself,  I  thought, 
for  the  sake  of  old  times,  you  might  be  willing  to 
advise  me  concerning  my  two  little  boys,  whom  I 
have  brought  to  St.  Andrews  for  their  education." 

"  Your  sons,  are  they  ?" 

"  "No.     I  am  not  married." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  he  told  the  little  fel- 


134:  THE   LAUREL  BUSH. 

lows  to  go  and  look  out  of  the  window,  while  he 
talked  with  Miss  Williams.  He  spoke  to  them  in 
a  fatherly  tone;  there  was  nothing  whatever  of  the 
young  man  left  in  him  now.  His  voice  was  sweet, 
his  manner  grave,  his  whole  appearance  unques- 
tionably "  middle-aged." 

"  They  are  orphans.  Their  name  is  Koy ;  though 
they  are  not  my  relatives,  or  so  distant  that  it  mat- 
ters nothing.  But  their  father  was  a  very  good 
friend  of  mine,  which  matters  a  great  deal.  He 
died  suddenly,  and  his  wife  soon  after,  leaving 
their  affairs  in  great  confusion.  Hearing  this  far 
up  in  the  Australian  bush,  where  I  had  been  a 
sheep -farmer  for  some  years,  I  came  round  by 
Shanghai,  but  too  late  to  do  more  than  take  these 
younger  boys  and  bring  them  home.  The  rest  of 
the  family  are  disposed  of.  These  two  will  be 
henceforward  mine.  That  is  all." 

A  very  little  "  all,"  and  wholly  about  other  peo- 
ple ;  scarcely  a  word  about  himself.  Yet  he  seem- 
ed to  think  it  sufficient,  and  as  if  she  had  no  possi- 
ble interest  in  hearing  more. 

Cursorily,  he  mentioned  having  received  her 
letter,  which  was  "friendly  and  kind;"  that  it  had 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   LOVE  STORY.  135 

followed  him  to  Australia,  and  then  back  to  Shang- 
hai. But  his  return  home  seemed  to  have  been 
entirely  without  reference  to  it — or  to  her. 

So  she  let  all  pass,  and  accepted  things  as  they 
were.  It  was  enough.  When  a  shipwrecked  man 
sees  land — ever  so  barren  a  land,  ever  so  desolate 
a  shore — he  does  not  argue  within  himself,  "Is 
this  my  haven  ?"  He  simply  puts  into  it,  and  lets 
himself  be  drifted  ashore. 

It  took  but  a  few  minutes  more  to  explain  fur- 
ther what  Mr.  Eoy  wanted — a  home  for  his  two 
"  poor  little  fellows." 

"They  are  so  young  still — and  they  have  lost 
their  mother.  They  would  do  very  well  in  their 
classes  here,  if  some  kind  woman  would  take  them 
and  look  after  them.  I  felt,  if  the  Miss  Williams  I 
heard  of  were  really  the  Miss  Williams  I  used  to 
know,  I  could  trust  them  to  her  more  than  to  any 
woman  I  ever  knew." 

"Thank  you."  And  then  she  explained  that 
she  had  already  two  girls  in  charge.  She  could 
say  nothing  till  she  had  consulted  them.  In  the 
mean  time — 

At  this   moment  the   tea -bell  sounded.      The 


136  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

world  was  going  on  just  as  usual — this  strange, 
commonplace,  busy,  regardless  world ! 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  intruding  on  your  time 
so  long,"  said  Mr.  Roy,  rising.  "  I  will  leave  you 
to  consider  the  question,  and  you  will  let  me  know 
as  soon  as  you  can.  I  am  staying  at  the  hotel  here, 
and  shall  remain  until  I  can  leave  my  boys  settled. 
Good-evening." 

Again  she  felt  the  grasp  of  the  hand:  that  ghost- 
ly touch,  so  vivid  in  dreams  for  all  these  years,  and 
now  a  warm,  living  reality.  It  was  too  much.  She 
could  not  bear  it. 

"If  you  would  care  to  stay,"  she  said — and 
though  it  was  too  dark  to  see  her,  he  must  have 
heard  the  faint  tremble  in  her  voice — "our  tea  is 
ready.  Let  me  introduce  you  to  my  girls,  and 
they  can  make  friends  with  your  little  boys." 

The  matter  was  soon  settled,  and  the  little  par- 
ty ushered  into  the  bright,  warm  parlor,  glittering 
with  all  the  appendages  of  that  pleasant  meal — es- 
sentially feminine — a  "  hungry  "  tea.  Robert  Roy 
put  his  hand  over  his  eyes  as  if  the  light  dazzled 
him,  and  then  sat  down  in  the  arm-chair  which 
Miss  Williams  brought  forward,  turning  as  he  did 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STOEY.  137 

so  to  look  up  at  her — right  in  her  face — with  his 
grave,  soft,  earnest  eyes. 

"Thank  you.  How  like  that  was  to  your  old 
ways !  How  very  little  you  are  changed  I" 

This  was  the  only  reference  he  made,  in  the 
slightest  degree,  to  former  times. 

And  she  ? 

She  went  out  of  the  room,  ostensibly  to  get  a  pot 
of  guava  jelly  for  tae  boys — found  it  after  some 
search,  and  then  sat  down. 

Only  in  her  store-closet,  with  her  housekeeping 
things  all  about  her.  But  it  was  a  quiet  place, 
and  the  door  was  shut. 

There  is,  in  one  of  these  infinitely  pathetic  Old 
Testament  stories,  a  sentence:  "And  he  sought 
where  to  weep;  and  he  entered  into  his  chamber 
and  wept  there." 

She  did  not  weep,  this  woman,  not  a  young  wom- 
an now :  she  only  tried  during  her  few  minutes  of 
solitude  to  gather  up  her  thoughts,  to  realize  what 
had  happened  to  her,  and  who  it  was  that  sat  in 
the  next  room — under  her  roof — at  her  very  fire- 
side. Then  she  clasped  her  hands  with  a  sudden 
sob,  wild  as  any  of  the  emotions  of  her  girlhood  : 


138  THE   LAUREL   BUSH. 

"  Oh,  my  love,  my  love,  the  love  of  all  my  life ! 
Thank  God !" 

The  evening  passed,  not  very  merrily,  but  peace- 
fully ;  the  girls,  who  had  heard  a  good  deal  of  Mr. 
Eoy  from  David  Dalziel,  doing  their  best  to  be 
courteous  to  him,  and  to  amuse  his  shy  little  boys. 
He  did  not  stay  long,  evidently  having  a  morbid 
dread  of  "  intruding,"  and  his  manner  was  exceed- 
ingly reserved,  almost  awkward  sometimes,  of 
which  he  seemed  painfully  conscious,  apologizing 
for  being  "  unaccustomed  to  civilization,  and  to  la- 
dies' society,  having  during  his  life  in  the  bush 
sometimes  passed  months  at  a  time  without  ever 
seeing  a  woman's  face." 

"And  women  are  your  only  civilizers,"  said  he. 
"  That  is  why  I  wished  my  motherless  lads  to  be 
taken  into  this  household  of  yours,  Miss  Williams, 
which  looks  so — so  comfortable,"  and  he  glanced 
round  the  pretty  parlor  with  something  very  like  a 
sigh.  "  I  hope  you  will  consider  the  matter,  and  let 
me  know  as  soon  as  you  have  made  up  your  mind." 

"  Which  I  shall  do  very  soon,"  she  answered. 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  will.  And  your  decision 
once  made,  you  never  change." 


AN   OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE   STORY.  139 

"  Very  seldom.  I  am  not  one  of  those  who  are 
'given  to  change.'  " 

"Nor  I." 

He  stood  a  moment,  lingering  in  the  pleasant, 
lightsome  warmth,  as  if  loath  to  quit  it,  then  took 
his  little  boys  iri  either  hand,  and  went  away. 

There  was  a  grand  consultation  that  night,  for 
Miss  Williams  never  did  any  thing  without  speak- 
ing to  her  girls;  but  still  it  was  only  nominal. 
They  always  left  the  decision  to  her.  And  her 
heart  yearned  over  the  two  little  Roys,  orphans,  yet 
children  still ;  while  Helen  and  Janetta  were  grow- 
ing up,  and  needing  very  little  from  her  except  a 
general  motherly  supervision.  Besides,  he  asked 
it.  He  had  said  distinctly  that  she  was  the  only 
woman  to  whom  he  could  thoroughly  trust  his 
boys.  So — she  took  them. 

After  a  few  days,  the  new  state  of  things  grew 
so  familiar  that  it  seemed  as  if  it  had  lasted  for 
months,  the  young  Roys  going  to  and  fro  to  their 
classes,  and  their  golf-playing,  just  as  the  young 
Dalziels  had  done ;  and  Mr.  Roy  coming  about  the 
house,  almost  daily — exactly  as  Robert  Roy  had 
used  to  do  of  old.  Sometimes  it  was  to  Fortune 


140  THE  LAUEEL  BUSH. 

"Williams  the  strangest  reflex  of  former  times;  only 
— with  a  difference. 

Unquestionably,  he  was  very  much  changed. 
In  outward  appearance  more  even  than  the  time 
accounted  for.  No  man  can  knock  about  the 
world,  in  different  lands  and  climates,  for  seventeen 
years,  without  bearing  the  marks  of  it.  Though 
still  under  fifty,  he  had  all  the  air  of  an  "elderly  " 
man,  and  had  grown  a  little  "peculiar  "  in  his  ways 
— his  modes  of  thought  and  speech,  except  that  he 
spoke  so  very  little.  He  accounted  for  this  by  his 
long,  lonely  life  in  Australia,  which  had  produced, 
he  said,  an  almost  unconquerable  habit  of  silence. 
Altogether,  he  was  far  more  of  an  old  bachelor  than 
she  was  of  an  old  m#id,  and  Fortune  felt  this :  felt, 
too,  that,  in  spite  of  her  gray  hairs,  she  was  in  reali- 
ty quite  as  young  as  he,  nay,  sometimes  younger; 
for  her  innocent,  simple,  shut-up  life  had  kept  her 
young. 

And  he,  what  had  his  life  been,  in  so  far  as  he 
gradually  betrayed  it  ?  Eestless,  struggling ;  a  per- 
petual battle  with  the  world ;  having  to  hold  his 
own,  and  fight  his  way  inch  by  inch — he  who  was 
naturally  a  born  student,  to  whom  the  whirl  of  a 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  141 

business  career  was  especially  obnoxious.  What 
had  made  him  choose  it?  Once  chosen,  probably 
he  could  not  help  himself;  besides,  he  was  not  one 
to  put  his  shoulder  to  the  wheel  and  then  draw 
back.  Evidently,  with  the  grain  or  against  the 
grain,  he  had  gone  on  with  it — this  sad,  strange, 
wandering  life,  until  he  had  "made  his  fortune," 
for  he  told  her  so.  But  he  said  no  more  ;  whether 
he  meant  to  stay  at  home  and  spend  it,  or  go  out 
again  to  the  antipodes  (and  he  spoke  of  those  far 
lands  without  any  distaste,  even  with  a  lingering 
kindliness,  for  indeed  he  seemed  to  have  no  un- 
kindly thought  of  any  place  or  person  in  all  the 
world),  his  friend  did  not  know. 

His  friend.  That  was  the  word.  No  other.' 
After  her  first  outburst  of  uncontrollable  emotion, 
to  call  Eobert  Eoy  her  "  love,"  even  in  fancy,  or  to 
expect  that  he  would  deport  himself  in  any  lover- 
like  way,  became  ridiculous,  pathetically  ridiculous. 
She  was  sure  of  that.  Evidently,  no  idea  of  the 
kind  entered  his  mind.  She  was  Miss  Williams, 
and  he  was  Mr.  Koy — two  middle-aged  people,  both 
with  their  different  responsibilities,  their  altogether 
separate  lives ;  and,  hard  as  her  own  had  been,  it 


142  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

seemed  as  if  his  had  been  the  harder  of  the  two — 
aj,  though  he  was  now  a  rich  man,  and  she  still 
little  better  than  a  poor  governess. 

She  did  not  think  very  much  of  worldly  things, 
but  still  she  was  aware  of  this  fact — that  he  was 
rich  and  she  was  poor.  She  did  not  suffer  herself 
to  dwell  upon  it,  but  the  consciousness  was  there, 
sustained  with  a  certain  feeling  called  "proper 
pride."  The  conviction  was  forced  upon  her  in 
the  very  first  days  of  Mr.  Eoy's  return — that  to  go 
back  to  the  days  of  their  youth  was  as  impossible 
as  to  find  primroses  in  September. 

If,  indeed,  there  were  any  thing  to  go  back  to. 
Sometimes  she  felt,  if  she  could  only  have  found 
out  that,  all  the  rest  would  be  easy,  painless.  If 
she  could  only  have  said  to  him,  "Did  you  write 
me  the  letter  you  promised?  Did  you  ever  love 
me?"  But  that  one  question  was,  of  course,  utter- 
ly impossible.  He  made  no  reference  whatever 
to  old  things,  but  seemed  resolved  to  take  up  the 
present — a  very  peaceful  and  happy  present  it  soon 
grew  to  be— just  as  if  there  were  no  past  at  all. 
So  perforce  did  she. 

But,  as  I  think  I  have  said  once  before,  human 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  143 

nature  is  weak,  and  there  were  days  when  the  leaves 
were  budding,  and  the  birds  singing  in  the  trees, 
when  the  sun  was  shining  and  the  waves  rolling  in 
upon  the  sands,  just  as  they  rolled  in  that  morning 
over  those  two  lines  of  footmarks,  which  might 
have  walked  together  through  life;  and  who  knows 
what  mutual  strength,  help,  and  comfort  this  might 
have  proved  to  both? — then,  it  was,  for  one  at 
least,  rather  hard. 

Especially  when,  bit  by  bit,  strange,  ghostly  frag- 
ments of  his  old  self  began  to  re-appear  in  Kobert 
Eoy :  his  keen  delight  in  nature,  his  love  of  botan- 
ical or  geological  excursions.  Often  he  would  go 
wandering  down  the  familiar  shore  for  hours,  in 
search  of  marine  animals  for  the  girls'  aquarium, 
and  then  would  come  and  sit  down  at  their  tea-ta- 
ble, reading  or  talking,  so  like  the  Eobert  Koy  of  old, 
that  one  of  the  little  group,  who  always  crept  in  the 
background,  felt  dizzy  and  strange,  as  if  all  her  later 
years  had  been  a  dream,  and  she  were  living  her 
youth  over  again,  only  with  the  difference  afore- 
said. A  difference,  sharp  as  that  between  death  and 
life — yet  with  something  of  the  peace  of  death  in  it. 

Sometimes,  when  they  met  at  the  innocent  little 


144:  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

tea-parties  which  St.  Andrews  began  to  give — for, 
of  course,  in  that  small  community  every  body 
knew  every  body,  and  all  his  affairs  to  boot,  often 
a  good  deal  better  than  he  did  himself;  so  that 
there  was  great  excitement,  and  no  end  of  specu- 
lation, over  Mr.  Eoy — sometimes,  meeting,  as  they 
were  sure  to  do,  and  walking  home  together,  with 
the  moonlight  shining  down  the  empty  streets,  and 
the  stars  out  by  myriads  over  the  silent  distant  sea, 
while  the  nearer  tide  came  washing  in  upon  the 
sands — all  was  so  like — so  frightfully  like! — old 
times,  that  it  was  very  sore  to  bear. 

But,  as  I  have  said,  Miss  Williams  was  Miss  Wil- 
liams, and  Mr.  Eoy  Mr.  Roy,  and  there  were  her 
two  girls  always  besides  them;  also  his  two  boys, 
who  soon  took  to  "  auntie  "  as  naturally  as  if  they 
were  really  hers,  or  she  theirs. 

"  I  think  they  had  better  call  you  so,  as  the  oth- 
ers do,"  said  Mr.  Roy,  one  day.  "Are  these  young 
ladies  really  related  to  you  ?" 

"No;  but  I  promised  their  father  on  his  death- 
bed to  take  charge  of  them.  That  is  all." 

"He  is  dead,  then?  Was  he  a  great  friend  of 
yours?" 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  145 

She  felt  the  blood  flashing  all  over  her  face,  but 
she  answered  steadily:  "Not  a  very  intimate  friend, 
but  I  respected  him  exceedingly.  He  was  a  good 
man.  His  daughters  had  a  heavy  loss  when  he 
died,  and  I  am  glad  to  be  a  comfort  to  them  so 
long  as  they  need  me." 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  it." 

This  was  the  only  question  he  ever  asked  her 
concerning  her  past  life,  though,  by  slow  degrees,  he 
told  her  a  good  deal  of  his  own.  Enough  to  make 
her  quite  certain,  even  if  her  keen  feminine  instinct 
had  not  already  divined  the  fact,  that  whatever 
there  might  have  been  in  it  of  suffering,  there  was 
nothing  in  the  smallest  degree  either  to  be  ashamed 
of  or  to  hide.  What  Eobert  Roy,  of  Shanghai,  had 
written  about  him  had  continued  true.  As  he  said 
one  day  to  her,  "  We  never  stand  still.  We  either 
grow  better  or  worse.  You  have  not  grown  worse." 

Nor  had  he.  All  that  was  good  in  him  had  de- 
veloped, all  his  little  faults  had  toned  down.  The 
Robert  Roy  of  to-day  was  slightly  different  from, 
but  in  nowise  inferior  to,  the  Robert  Roy  of  her 
youth.  She  saw  it,  and  rejoiced  in  the  seeing. 

What  he  saw  in  her  she  could  not  tell.     He 


146  THE  LAUKEL  BUSH. 

seemed  determined  to  rest  wholly  in  the  present, 
and  take  out  of  it  all  the  peace  and  pleasantness 
that  he  could.  In  the  old  days,  when  the  Dalziel 
boys  were  naughty,  and  Mrs.  Dalziel  tiresome,  and 
work  was  hard,  and  holidays  were  few,  and  life 
was  altogether  the  rough  road  that  it  often  seems 
to  the  young,  he  had  once  called  her  "  Pleasantness 
and  Peace."  He  never  said  so  now;  but  some- 
times he  looked  it. 

Many  an  evening  he  came  and  sat  by  her  fire- 
side, in  the  arm-chair,  which  seemed  by  right  to 
have  devolved  upon  him;  never  staying  very 
long,  for  he  was  still  nervously  sensitive  about  be- 
ing "in  the  way,"  but  making  himself  and  them 
all  very  cheerful  and  happy  while  he  did  stay. 
Only  sometimes  when  Fortune's  eyes  stole  to  his 
face — not  a  young  man's  face  now — she  fancied 
she  could  trace,  besides  the  wrinkles,  a  sadness,  ap- 
proaching to  hardness,  that  never  used  to  be.  But, 
again,  when,  interested  in  some  book  or  other  (he 
said  it  was  delicious  to  take  to  reading  again,  after 
the  long  fast  of  years),  he  would  look  round  to  her 
for  sympathy,  or  utter  one  of  his  dry  drolleries,  the 
old  likeness^  the  old  manner  and  tone,  would  come 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE   STORY.  147 

back  so  vividly  that  she  started,  hardly  knowing 
whether  the  feeling  it  gave  her  was  pleasure  or 
pain. 

But  beneath  both,  lying  so  deep  clown  that  nei- 
ther he  nor  any  one  could  ever  suspect  its  presence, 
was  something  else.  Can  many  waters  quench 
love?  Can  the  deep  sea  drown  it?  What  years 
of  silence  can  wither  it  ?  What  frost  of  age  can 
freeze  it  down  ?  God  only  knows. 

Hers  was  not  like  a  girl's  love.  Those  two  girls 
sitting  by  her  day  after  day  would  have  smiled 
at  it,  and  at  its  object  Between  themselves  they 
considered  Mr.  Roy  somewhat  of  an  "old  fogy;" 
were  very  glad  to  make  use  of  him  now  and  then, 
in  the  great  dearth  of  gentlemen  at  St.  Andrews, 
and  equally  glad  afterward  to  turn  him  over  to 
auntie,  who  was  always  kind  to  him.  Auntie  was 
so  kind  to  every  body. 

Kind  ?  Of  course  she  was,  and,  above  all,  when 
he  looked  worn  and  tired.  He  did  so  sometimes : 
as  if  life  had  ceased  to  be  all  pleasure,  and  the  con- 
stant mirth  of  these  young  folks  was  just  a  little 
too  much  for  him.  Then  she  ingeniously  used  to 

save  him  from  it  and  them,  for  a  while.     They  nev- 

7 


148  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

er  knew — there  was  no  need  for  them  to  know — 
how  tenfold  deeper  than  all  the  passion  of  youth  is 
the  tenderness  with  which  a  woman  cleaves  to  the 
man  she  loves  when  she  sees  him  growing  old. 

Thus  the  days  went  by,  till  Easter  came,  an- 
nounced by  the  sudden  apparition,  one  evening,  of 
David  Dalziel. 

That  young  man,  when,  the  very  first  day  of  his 
holidays,  he  walked  in  upon  his  friends  at  St.  An- 
drews, and  found  sitting  at  their  tea-table  a  strange 
gentleman,  did  not  like  it.  Scarcely  even  when 
he  found  out  that  the  intruder  was  his  old  friend, 
Mr.  Eoy. 

"And  you  never  told  me  a  word  about  this," 
said  he,  reproachfully,  to  Miss  Williams.  "  Indeed, 
you  have  not  written  to  me  for  weeks ;  you  have 
forgotten  all  about  me." 

She  winced  at  the  accusation,  for  it  was  true. 
Beyond  her  daily  domestic  life,  which  she  still  care- 
fully fulfilled,  she  had,  in  truth,  forgotten  every 
thing.  Outside  people  were  ceasing  to  affect  her  at 
all.  What  he  liked,  what  he  wanted  to  do,  day  by 
day — whether  he  looked  ill  or  well,  happy  or  unhap- 
py, only  he  rarely  looked  either — this  was  slowly 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   LOVE  STORY.  149 

growing  to  be  once  more  her  whole  world.  With  a 
sting  of  compunction,  and  another,  half  of  fear,  save 
that  there  was  nothing  to  dread,  nothing  that  could 
affect  any  body  beyond  herself — Miss  Williams 
roused  herself  to  give  young  Dalziel  an  especially 
hearty  welcome,  and  to  make  his  little  visit  as  hap- 
py as  possible. 

Small  need  of  that ;  he  was  bent  on  taking  all 
things  pleasantly.  Coming  now  near  the  end  of  a 
very  creditable  college  career,  being  of  age  and  in- 
dependent, with  the  cozy  little  fortune  that  his  old 
grandmother  had  left  him,  the  young  fellow  was 
disposed  to  see  every  thing  coukur  de  rose,  and  this 
feeling  communicated  itself  to  all  his  friends. 

It  was  a  pleasant  time.  Often  in  years  to  come 
did  that  little  knot  of  friends,  old  and  young,  look 
back  upon  it  as  upon  one  of  those  rare  bright  bits 
in  life  when  the  outside  current  of  things  moves 
smoothly  on,  while  underneath  it  there  may  or  may 
not  be,  but  generally  there  is,  a  secret  or  two  which 
turns  the  most  trivial  events  into  sweet  and  dear 
remembrances  forever. 

David's  days  being  few  enough,  they  took  pains 
not  to  lose  one,  but  planned  excursions  here,  there, 


150  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

and  everywhere — to  Dundee,  to  Perth,  to  Elie,  to 
Balcarras — all  together,  children,  young  folks,  and 
elders;  that  admirable  melange  which  generally 
makes  such  expeditions  "go  off"  well.  Theirs 
did,  especially  the  last  one,  to  the  old  house  of 
Balcarras,  where  they  got  admission  to  the  lovely 
quaint  garden,  and  Janetta  sung  "Auld  Kobin 
Gray  "  on  the  spot  where  it  was  written. 

She  had  a  sweet  voice,  and  there  seemed  to  have 
come  into  it  a  pathos  which  Fortune  had  never  re- 
marked before.  The  touching,  ever  old,  ever  new 
story  made  the  young  people  quite  quiet  for  a  few 
minutes;  and  then  they  all  wandered  away  to- 
gether, Helen  promising  to  look  after  the  two  wild 
young  Roys,  to  see  that  they  did  not  kill  them- 
selves in  some  unforeseen  way,  as,  aided  and  abet- 
ted by  David  and  Janetta,  they  went  on  a  scramble 
up  Balcarras  Hill. 

"Will  you  go  too?"  said  Fortune  to  Robert  Roy. 
"I  have  the  provisions  to  see  to;  besides,  I  can 
not  scramble  as  well  as  the  rest.  I  am  not  quite 
so  young  as  I  used  to  be." 

"Nor  I,"  he  answered,  as,  taking  her  basket,  he 
walked  silently  on  beside  her. 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE   STORY.  151 

It  was  a  curious  feeling,  and  all  to  come  out  of  a 
foolish  song ;  but  if  ever  she  felt  thankful  to  God 
from  the  bottom  of  her  heart,  that  she  had  said 
"No,"  at  once  and  decisively,  to  the  good  man 
who  slept  at  peace  beneath  the  church -yard  elms,  it 
was  at  that  moment.  But  the  feeling  and  the  mo- 
ment passed  by  immediately.  Mr.  Roy  took  up 
the  thread  of  conversation  where  he  had  left  it  off 
— it  was  some  bookish  or  ethical  argument,  such  as 
he  would  go  on  with  for  hours ;  so  she  listened  to 
him  in  silence.  They  walked  on,  the  larks  sing- 
ing and  the  primroses  blowing.  All  the  world  was 
saying  to  itself,  "  I  am  young,  I  am  happy ;"  but 
she  said  nothing  at  all. 

People  grow  used  to  pain ;  it  dies  down  at  inter- 
vals, and  becomes  quite  bearable,  especially  when 
no  one  sees  it,  or  guesses  at  it. 

They  had  a  very  merry  picnic  on  the  hill-top 
enjoying  those  mundane  consolations  of  food  and 
drink  which  auntie  was  expected  always  to  have 
forthcoming,  and  which  those  young  people  did 
by  no  means  despise,  nor  Mr.  Eoy  neither.  He 
made  himself  so  very  pleasant  with  them  all, 
looking  thoroughly  happy,  and  baring  his  head 


152  THE   LAUREL  BUSH. 

to  the  spring  breeze  with  the  eagerness  of  a 
boy. 

"  Oh,  this  is  delicious !  It  makes  me  feel  young 
again.  There's  nothing  like  home.  One  thing  I 
am  determined  upon:  I  will  never  quit  bonnie 
Scotland  more." 

It  was  the  first  clear  intimation  he  had  given  of 
his  intentions  regarding  the  future,  but  it  thrilled 
her  with  measureless  content.  If  only  he  would 
not  go  abroad  again,  if  she  might  have  him  within 
reach  for  the  rest  of  her  days — able  to  see  him,  to 
talk  to  him,  to  know  where  he  was  and  what  he 
was  doing,  instead  of  being  cut  off  from  him  by 
those  terrible  dividing  seas — it  was  enough !  Noth- 
ing could  be  so  bitter  as  what  had  been ;  and  what- 
ever was  the  mystery  of  their  youth,  which  it  was 
impossible  to  unravel  now — whether  he  had  ever 
loved  her,  or  loved  her  and  crushed  it  down  and 
forgotten  it,  or  only  felt  very  kindly  and  cordially 
to  her,  as  he  did  now,  the  past  was — well,  only  the 
past! — and  the  future  lay  still  before  her,  not  un- 
sweet.  When  we  are  young,  we  insist  on  having 
every  thing  or  nothing;  when  we  are  older,  we 
learn  that  "every  thing"  is  an  impossible,  and 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE   STORY.  153 

"  nothing  "  a  somewhat  bitter,  word.  We  are  able 
to  stoop  meekly,  and  pick  up  the  fragments  of  the 
children's  bread,  without  feeling  ourselves  to  be  al- 
together "  dogs." 

Fortune  went  home  that  night  with  a  not  unhap- 
py, almost  a  satisfied,  heart.  She  sat  back  in  the 
carriage,  close  beside  that  other  heart  which  she 
believed  to  be  the  truest  in  all  the  world,  though 
it  had  never  been  hers.  There  was  a  tremendous 
clatter  of  talking  and  laughing,  and  fun  of  all  sorts, 
between  David  Dalziel  and  the  little  Eoys  on  the 
box,  and  the  Miss  Moseleys  sitting  just  below 
them,  as  they  had  insisted  on  doing,  no  doubt  find- 
ing the  other  two  members  of  the  party  a  little 
"slow." 

Nevertheless,  Mr.  Koy  and  Miss  Williams  took 
their  part  in  laughing  with  their  young  people, 
and  trying  to  keep  them  in  order;  though  after  a 
while  both  relapsed  into  silence.  One  did  at  least, 
for  it  had  been  a  long  day,  and  she  was  tired,  be- 
ing, as  she  had  said,  "not  so  young  as  she  had 
been."  But  if  any  one  of  these  lively  young  peo- 
ple had  asked  her  the  question  whether  she  was 
happy,  or  at  least  contented,  she  would  have  nev- 


154  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

er  hesitated  about  her  reply.  Young,  gay,  and 
prosperous  as  they  were,  I  doubt  if  Fortune  Wil- 
liams would  have  changed  lots  with  any  one  of 
them  all. 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  155 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  S  it  befell,  that  day  at  Balcarras  was  the  last 
of  the  bright  days,  in  every  sense,  for  the  time 
being.  Wet  weather  set  in,  as  even  the  most  par- 
tial witness  must  allow  does  occasionally  happen  in 
Scotland,  and  the  domestic  barometer  seemed  to  go 
down  accordingly.  The  girls  grumbled  at  being 
kept  indoors,  and  would  willingly  have  gone  out 
golfing  under  umbrellas,  but  auntie  was  remorse- 
less. They  were  delicate  girls  at  best,  so  that  her 
watch  over  them  was  never  ceasing,  and  her  pa- 
tience inexhaustible. 

David  Dalziel  also  was  in  a  very  troublesome 
mood,  quite  unusual  for  him.  He  came  and  went, 
complained  bitterly  that  the  girls  were  not  allowed 
to  go  out  with  him ;  abused  the  place,  the  climate, 
and  did  all  those  sort  of  bearish  things  which  young 
gentlemen  are  sometimes  in  the  habit  of  doing, 

when — when  that  wicked  little  boy  whom  they 
7* 


156  THE   LAUREL  BUSH. 

read  about  at  school  and  college  makes  himself 
known  to  them  as  a  pleasant,  or  unpleasant,  real, 
ity. 

Miss  Williams,  who,  I  am  afraid,  was  far  too  sim- 
ple a  woman  for  the  new  generation,  which  has 
become  so  extraordinarily  wise  and  wide  awake, 
opened  her  eyes  and  wondered  why  David  was  so 
unlike  his  usual  self.  Mr.  Koy,  too,  to  whom  he 
behaved  worse  than  to  any  one  else,  only  the  elder 
man  quietly  ignored  it  all,  and  was  very  patient 
and  gentle  with  the  restless,  ill-tempered  boy — Mr. 
Eoy  even  remarked  that  he  thought  David  would 
be  happier  at  his  work  again;  idling  was  a  bad 
thing  for  young  fellows  at  his  age,  or  any  age. 

At  last  it  all  came  out,  the  bitterness  which  ran- 
kled in  the  poor  lad's  breast;  with  another  secret, 
which,  foolish  woman  that  she  was,  Miss  Williams 
had  never  in  the  least  degree  suspected.  Yery 
odd  that  she  had  not,  but  so  it  was.  We  all  find 
it  difficult  to  realize  the  moment  when  our  children 
cease  to  be  children.  Still  more  difficult  is  it  for 
very  serious  and  earnest  natures  to  recognize  that 
there  are  other  natures  which  take  things  in  a  to- 
tally different  way,  and  yet  it  may  be  the  right  and 


AN   OLD-FASHIONED   LOVE   STORY.  157 

natural  way  for  them.  Such  is  the  fact :  we  must 
learn  it,  and  the  sooner  we  learn  it  the  better. 

One  day,  when  the  rain  had  a  little  abated,  Da- 
vid appeared,  greatly  disappointed  to  find  the  girls 
had  gone  out,  down  to  the  West  Sands,  with  Mr. 
Koy. 

"Always  Mr.  Koy !  I  am  sick  of  his  name," 
muttered  David,  and  then  caught  Miss  Williams 
by  the  dress  as  she  was  rising:  she  had  a  gentle 
but  rather  dignified  way  with  her  of  repressing  bad 
manners  in  young  people,  either  by  perfect  silence, 
or  by  putting  the  door  between  her  and  them. 
"  Don't  go !  One  never  can  get  a  quiet  word  with 
you,  you  are  always  so  preternaturally  busy." 

It  was  true.  To  be  always  busy  was  her  only 
shield  against — certain  things  which  the  young 
man  was  never  likely  to  know,  and  would  not  un- 
derstand if  he  did  know. 

11  Do  sit  down,  if  you  ever  can  sit  down,  for  a 
minute,"  said  he,  imploringly ;  "  I  want  to  speak  to 
you  seriously,  very  seriously." 

She  sat  down,  a  little  uneasy.  The  young  fellow 
was  such  a  good  fellow;  and  yet  he  might  have 
got  into  a  scrape  of  some  sort.  Debt,  perhaps ;  for 


158  THE   LAUREL  BUSH. 

he  was  a  trifle  extravagant :  but,  then,  life  had  been 
all  roses  to  him.  He  had  never  known  a  want 
since  he  was  born. 

"  Speak  then,  David ;  I  am  listening.  Nothing 
very  wrong,  I  hope !"  said  she,  with  a  smile. 

"  Nothing  at  all  wrong,  only —  When  is  Mr. 
Eoy  going  away?" 

The  question  was  so  unexpected  that  she  felt 
her  color  changing  a  little;  not  much:  she  was 
too  old  for  that. 

"  Mr.  Eoy  leaving  St.  Andrews,  you  mean  ?  How 
can  I  tell  ?  He  has  never  told  me.  Why  do  you 
ask?" 

"  Because  until  he  is  gone,  I  stay,"  said  the  young 
man,  doggedly.  "I'm  not  going  back  to  Oxford 
leaving  him  master  of  the  field.  I  have  stood  him 
as  long  as  I  possibly  can,  and  I'll  not  stand  him 
any  longer." 

"David!  you  forget  yourself." 

"There  —  now  you  are  offended;  I  know  you 
are,  when  you  draw  yourself  up  in  that  way,  my 
dear  little  auntie.  But  just  hear  me.  You  are 
such  an  innocent  woman,  you  don't  know  the  world 
as  we  men  do.  Can't  you  see — no,  of  course  you 


AN   OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE   STORY.  159 

can't — that  very  soon  all  St.  Andrews  will  be  talk- 
ing about  you  ?" 

"About  me?" 

"  Not  about  you  exactly — but  about  the  family. 
A  single  man — a  marrying  man,  as  all  the  world 
says  he  is,  or  ought  to  be,  with  his  money — can 
not  go  in  and  out  like  a  tame  cat  in  a  household 
of  women,  without  having,  or  being  supposed  to 
have — ahem! — intentions.  I  assure  you" — and 
he  swung  himself  on  the  arm  of  her  chair,  and 
looked  into  her  face  with  an  angry  earnestness 
quite  unmistakable — "I  assure  you,  I  never  go 
into  the  club  without  being  asked,  twenty  times  a 
day,  which  of  the  Miss  Moseleys  Mr.  Koy  is  going 
to  marry  ?" 

"  Which  of  the  Miss  Moseleys  Mr.  Eoy  is  going 
to  marry  ?" 

She  repeated  the  words,  as  if  to  gain  time,  and 
to  be  certain  she  heard  them  rightly.  No  fear  of 
her  blushing  now ;  every  pulse  in  her  heart  stood 
dead  still ;  and  then  she  nerved  herself  to  meet  the 
necessity  of  the  occasion. 

"David,  you  surely  do  not  consider  what  you 
are  saying.  This  is  a  most  extraordinary  idea." 


160  THE   LAUEEL  BUSH. 

"  It  is  a  most  extraordinary  idea ;  in  fact,  I  call 
it  ridiculous,  monstrous;  an  old  battered  fellow 
like  him,  who  has  knocked  about  the  world,  Heav- 
en knows  where,  all  these  years,  to  come  home, 
and,  because  he  has  got  a  lot  of  money,  think  to  go 
and  marry  one  of  these  nice,  pretty  girls.  They 
wouldn't  have  him,  I  believe  that ;  but  nobody  else 
believes  it ;  and  every  body  seems  to  think  it  the 
most  natural  thing  possible.  What  do  you  say  ?" 

"I?" 

"  Surely  you  don't  think  it  right,  or  even  possi- 
ble? But,  auntie,  it  might  turn  out  a  rather  awk- 
ward affair,  and  you  ought  to  take  my  advice,  and 
stop  it  in  time.'* 

"How?" 

"  Why,  by  stopping  him  out  of  the  house.  You 
and  he  are  great  friends ;  if  he  had  any  notion  of 
marrying,  I  suppose  he  would  mention  it  to  you — 
he  ought.  It  would  be  a  cowardly  trick  to  come 
and  steal  one  of  your  chickens  from  under  your 
wing,  wouldn't  it?  Do  say  something,  instead  of 
merely  echoing  what  I  say.  It  really  is  a  serious 
matter,  though  you  don't  think  so." 

"Yes!  I  do  think  so,"  said  Miss  Williams  at 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STOKY.  161 

last ;  "  and  I  would  stop  it,  if  I  thought  I  had  any 
right.  But  Mr.  Boy  is  quite  able  to  manage  his 
own  affairs ;  and  he  is  not  so  very  old — not  more 
than  five-and-twenty  years  older  than — Helen." 

"Bother  Helen !  I  beg  her  pardon,  she  is  a  dear, 
good  girl.  But,  do  you  think  any  man  would  look 
at  Helen  when  there  was  Janetta?" 

It  was  out  now,  out  with  a  burning  blush  over 
all  the  lad's  honest  face,  and  the  sudden  crick- 
crack  of  a  pretty  Indian  paper-cutter  he  unfortu- 
nately was  twiddling  in  his  fingers.  Miss  Williams 
must  have  been  blind  indeed  not  to  have  guessed 
the  state  of  the  case. 

"  What  1  Janetta?    Oh,  David !"  was  all  she  said. 

He  nodded.  "Yes,  that's  it,  just  it.  I  thought 
you  must  have  found  it  out  long  ago;  though  I 
kept  myself  to  myself  pretty  close :  still,  you  might 
have  guessed." 

"  I  never  did.  I  had  not  the  remotest  idea.  Oh, 
how  remiss  I  have  been !  It  is  all  my  fault." 

"  Excuse  me,  I  can  not  see  that  it  is  any  body's 
fault,  or  any  body's  misfortune  either,"  said  the 
young  fellow,  with  a  not  unbecoming  pride.  "I 
hope  I  should  not  be  a  bad  husband  to  any  girl, 


162  THE   LAUKEL   BUSH. 

when  it  comes  to  that.  But  it  has  not  come;  I 
have  never  said  a  single  word  to  her.  I  wanted  to 
be  quite  clear  of  Oxford,  and  in  a  way  to  win  my 
own  position  first.  And,  really,  we  are  so  very  jol- 
ly together  as  it  is.  What  are  you  smiling  for  ?" 

She  could  not  help  it.  There  was  something  so 
funny  in  the  whole  affair.  They  seemed  such  ba- 
bies, playing  at  love ;  and  their  love-making,  if  such 
it  was,  had  been  carried  on  in  such  an  exceedingly 
open  and  lively  way — not  a  bit  of  tragedy  about  it ; 
rather  genteel  comedy,  bordering  on  farce.  It  was 
such  a  contrast  to— certain  other  love  stories  that 
she  had  known,  quite  buried  out  of  sight  now. 

Gentle  "auntie"  —  the  grave  maiden  lady,  the 
old  hen  with  all  these  young  ducklings  who  would 
take  to  the  water  so  soon  —  held  out  her  hand  to 
the  impetuous  David. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  you,  my  boy : 
you  really  are  little  more  than  a  boy;  and  to  be 
taking  upon  yourself  the  responsibilities  of  life  so 
soon !  Still,  I  am  glad  you  have  said  nothing  to 
her  about  it  yet.  She  is  a  mere  child,  only  eight- 
een." 

"  Quite  old  enough  to  marry,  and  to  marry  Mr. 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  163 

Roy  even,  the  St.  Andrews  folks  think.  But  I 
won't  stand  it.  I  won't  tamely  sit  by  and  see  her 
sacrificed.  He  might  persuade  her ;  he  has  a  very 
winning  way  with  him  sometimes.  Auntie,  I  have 
not  spoken,  but  I  won't  promise  not  to  speak.  It 
is  all  very  well  for  you;  you  are  old,  and  your 
blood  runs  cold,  as  you  said  to  us  one  day — no,  I 
don't  mean  that ;  you  are  a  real  brick  still,  and 
you'll  never  be  old  to  us ;  but  you  are  not  in  love, 
and  you  can't  understand  what  it  is  to  a  young  fel- 
low like  me  to  see  an  old  fellow  like  Roy  coming 
in  and  j  ust  walking  over  the  course.  But  he  sha'n't 
do  it.  Long  ago,  when  I  was  quite  a  lad,  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  get  her;  and  get  her  I  will,  spite 
of  Mr.  Roy  or  any  body." 

Fortune  was  touched.  That  strong  will,  which 
she  too  had  had,  able,  like  faith,  to  "  remove  mount- 
ains," sympathized  involuntarily  with  the  lad.  It 
was  j  ust  what  she  would  have  said  and  done,  had 
she  been  a  man  and  loved  a  woman.  She  gave 
David's  hand  a  warm  clasp,  which  he  returned. 

"Forgive  me,"  said  he,  affectionately.  "I  did 
not  mean  to  bother  you ;  but,  as  things  stand,  the 
matter  is  better  out  than  in.  I  hate  underhanded- 


164  THE   LAUREL  BUSH. 

ness.  I  may  have  made  an  awful  fool  of  myself, 
but  at  least  I  have  not  made  a  fool  of  her.  I  have 
been  as  careful  as  possible  not  to  compromise  her 
in  any  way ;  for  I  know  how  people  do  talk,  and  a 
man  has  no  right  to  let  the  girl  he  loves  be  talked 
about.  The  more  he  loves  her,  the  more  he  ought 
to  take  care  of  her.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I'd  cut  myself  up  into  little  pieces  for  Janetta's 
sake,"  he  went  on,  "  and  I'd  do  a  deal  for  Helen 
too :  the  sisters  are  so  fond  of  one  another.  She 
shall  always  have  a  home  with  us,  when  we  are 
married." 

"  Then,"  said  Miss  Williams,  hardly  able  again 
to  resist  a  smile,  "you  are  quite  certain  you  will 
be  married  ?  You  have  no  doubt  about  her  caring 
for  you  ?" 

David  pulled  his  whiskers,  not  very  voluminous 
yet,  looked  conscious,  and  yet  humble. 

"  Well,  I  don't  exactly  say  that.  I  know  I'm 
not  half  good  enough  for  her.  Still,  I  thought, 
when  I  had  taken  my  degree,  and  fairly  settled 
myself  at  the  bar,  I'd  try.  I  have  a  tolerably  good 
income  of  my  own  too,  though,  of  course,  I  am  not 


AN   OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE   STORY.  165 

as  well  off  as  that  confounded  old  Koy.  There 
he  is  at  this  minute,  meandering  up  and  down  the 
West  Sands  with  those  two  girls,  setting  every 
body's  tongue  going!  I  can't  stand  it!  I  declare 
to  you,  I  won't  stand  it  another  day !" 

"  Stop  a  moment,"  and  she  caught  hold  of  Da- 
vid as  he  started  up.  "What  are  you  going  to 
do?" 

"  I  don't  know  and  I  don't  care,  only  I  won't 
have  my  girl  talked  about — my  pretty,  merry,  in- 
nocent girl.  He  ought  to  know  better,  a  shrewd 
old  fellow  like  him.  It  is  silly,  selfish,  mean." 

This  was  more  than  Miss  Williams  could  bear. 
She  stood  up,  pale  to  the  lips,  but  speaking  strong- 
ly, almost  fiercely. 

11  You  ought  to  know  better,  David  Dalziel. 
You  ought  to  know  that  Mr.  Eoy  has  not  an  atom 
of  selfishness  or  meanness  in  him,  that  he  would 
be  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  compromise  any 
girl.  If  he  chooses  to  marry  Janetta,  or  any  one 
else,  he  has  a  perfect  right  to  do  it,  and  I  for  one 
will  not  try  to  hinder  him." 

"Then  you'll  not  stand  by  me  any  more?" 

"Not  if  you  are  blind  and  unfair.    You  may 


166  THE   LAUREL  BUSH. 

die  of  love,  though  I  don't  think  you  will ;  people 
don't  do  it  nowadays  "  (there  was  a  slightly  bitter 
jar  in  the  voice) ;  "  but  love  ought  to  make  you 
all  the  more  honorable,  clear-sighted,  and  just. 
And  as  to  Mr.  Koy — " 

She  might  have  talked  to  the  winds,  for  David 
was  not  listening.  He  had  heard  the  click  of  the 
garden  gate,  and  turned  round  with  blazing  eyes. 

"  There  he  is  again !  I  can't  stand  it,  Miss  Wil- 
liams !  I  give  you  fair  warning,  I  can't  stand  it ! 
He  has  walked  home  with  them,  and  is  waiting 
about  at  the  laurel  bush,  mooning  after  them.  Oh, 
hang  him!" 

Before  she  had  time  to  speak,  the  young  man 
was  gone.  But  she  had  no  fear  of  any  very  tragic 
consequences  when  she  saw  the  whole  party  stand- 
ing together — David  talking  to  Janetta,  Mr.  Roy 
to  Helen,  who  looked  so  fresh,  so  young,  so  pretty, 
almost  as  pretty  as  Janetta.  Nor  did  Mr.  Koy, 
pleased  and  animated,  look  so  very  old. 

That  strange  clear-sightedness,  that  absolute  jus- 
tice, of  which  Fortune  had  just  spoken,  were  qual- 
ities she  herself  possessed  to  a  remarkable,  almost 
a  painful,  degree.  She  could  not  "deceive  herself, 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  167 

even  if  she  tried.  The  more  cruel  the  sight,  the 
clearer  she  saw  it;  even  as  now  she  perceived  a 
certain  naturalness  in  the  fact  that  a  middle-aged 
man  so  often  chooses  a  young  girl  in  preference 
to  those  of  his  own  generation,  for  she  brings  him 
that  which  he  has  not ;  she  reminds  him  of  what 
he  used  to  have ;  she  is  to  him  like  the  freshness 
of  spring,  the  warmth  of  summer,  in  his  cheerless 
autumn  days.  Sometimes  these  marriages  are  not 
unhappy — far  from  it ;  and  Eobert  Koy  might  ere 
long  make  such  a  marriage.  Despite  poor  David's 
jealous  contempt,  he  was  neither  old  nor  ugly,  and, 
then,  he  was  rich. 

The  thing,  either  as  regarded  Helen,  or  some 
other  girl  of  Helen's  standing,  appeared  more  than 
possible — probable ;  and  if  so,  what  then  ? 

Fortune  looked  out  once,  and  saw  that  the  little 
group  at  the  laurel  bush  were  still  talking;  then 
she  slipped  upstairs  into  her  own  room  and  bolted 
the  door. 

The  first  thing  she  did  was  to  go  straight  up 
and  look  at  her  own  face  in  the  glass — her  poor 
old  face,  which  had  never  been  beautiful,  which 
she  had  never  wished  beautiful,  except  that  it 


168  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

might  be  pleasant  in  one  man's  eyes.  Sweet  it 
was  still,  but  the  sweetness  lay  in  its  expression, 
pure  and  placid,  and  innocent  as  a  young  girl's. 
But  she  saw  not  that;  she  saw  only  its  lost  youth, 
its  faded  bloom.  She  covered  it  over  with  both 
her  hands,  as  if  she  would  fain  bury  it  out  of 
sight;  knelt  down  by  her  bedside,  and  prayed. 

"Mr.  Eoy  is  waiting  below,  ma'am — has  been 
waiting  some  time ;  but  he  says  if  you  are  busy 
he  will  not  disturb  you ;  he  will  come  to-morrow 
instead." 

"Tell  him  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  him  to- 
morrow." 

She  spoke  through  the  locked  door,  too  feeble 
to  rise  and  open  it;  and  then  lying  down  on  her 
bed  and  turning  her  face  to  the  wall,  from  sheer 
exhaustion  fell  fast  asleep. 

People  dream  strangely  sometimes.  The  dream 
she  dreamed  was  so  inexpressibly  soothing  and 
peaceful,  so  entirely  out  of  keeping  with  the  reali- 
ty of  things,  that  it  almost  seemed  to  have  been 
what  in  ancient  times  would  be  called  a  vision. 

First,  she  thought  that  she  and  Robert  Roy  were 
little  children — mere  girl  and  boy  together,  as  they 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  169 

might  have  been,  from  the  few  years'  difference  in 
their  ages — running  hand-in-hand  about  the  sands 
of  St.  Andrews ;  and  so  fond  of  one  another — so 
very  fond  I  with  that  innocent  love  a  big  boy  oft- 
en has  for  a  little  girl,  and  a  little  girl  returns  with 
the  tenderest  fidelity.  So  she  did ;  and  she  was 
so  happy — they  were  both  so  happy.  In  the  sec- 
ond part  of  the  dream  she  was  happy  still,  but 
somehow  she  knew  she  was  dead — had  been  dead 
and  in  paradise  for  a  long  time,  and  was  waiting 
for  him  to  come  there.  He  was  coming  now ;  she 
felt  him  coming,  and  held  out  her  hands,  but  he 
took  and  clasped  her  in  his  arms ;  and  she  heard  a 
voice  saying  those  mysterious  words :  "  In  heaven 
they  neither  marry  nor  are  given  in  marriage,  but 
are  as  the  angels  of  God." 

It  was  very  strange,  all  was  very  strange,  but  it 
comforted  her.  She  rose  up,  and  in  the  twilight 
of  the  soft  spring  evening  she  washed  her  face  and 
combed  her  hair,  and  went  down,  like  King  David 
after  his  child  was  dead,  to  "eat  bread." 

Her  young  people  were  not  there.  They  had 
gone  out  again,  she  heard — with  Mr.  Dalziel,  not 
Mr.  Eoy,  who  had  sat  reading  in  the  parlor  alone 


170  THE   LAUREL  BUSH. 

for  upward  of  an  hour.  They  were  supposed  to  be 
golfing,  but  they  staid  out  till  long  after  it  was  pos- 
sible to  see  balls  or  holes  ;  and  Miss  Williams  was 
beginning  to  be  a  little  uneasy,  when  they  all  three 
walked  in,  David  and  Janetta  with  a  rather  sheep- 
ish air,  and  Helen  beaming  all  over  with  mysteri- 
ous delight. 

How  the  young  man  had  managed  it — to  pro- 
pose to  two  sisters  at  once — at  any  rate  to  make 
love  to  one  sister  while  the  other  was  by — remain- 
ed among  the  wonderful  feats  which  David  Dalziel, 
who  had  not  too  small  an  opinion  of  himself,  was 
always  ready  for,  and  generally  succeeded  in ;  and 
if  he  did  wear  his  heart  somewhat  "  on  his  sleeve," 
why,  it  was  a  very  honest  heart,  and  they  must 
have  been  ill  -  natured  "  daws  "  indeed  who  took 
pleasure  in  "  pecking  at  it." 

"Wish  me  joy,  auntie!"  he  cried,  coming  for- 
ward, beaming  all  over,  the  instant  the  girls  had 
disappeared  to  take  their  hats  off.  "I've  been  and 
gone  and  done  it,  and  it's  all  right.  I  didn't  in- 
tend it  just  yet,  but  he  drove  me  to  it,  for  which 
I'm  rather  obliged  to  him.  He  can't  get  her  now. 
Janetta's  mine!" 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.     171 

There  was  a  boyish  triumph  in  his  air;  in  fact, 
his  whole  conduct  was  exceedingly  juvenile,  but  so 
simple,  frank,  and  sincere  as  to  be  quite  irresistible. 

I  fear  Miss  Williams  was  a  very  weak-minded 
woman,  or  would  be  so  considered  by  a  great  part 
of  the  world — the  exceedingly  wise  and  prudent 
and  worldly-minded  "world."  Here  were  two 
young  people,  one  twenty-two,  the  other  eighteen, 
with — it  could  hardly  be  said  "not  a  half-penny," 
but  still  a  very  small  quantity  of  half-pennies,  be- 
tween them — and  they  had  not  only  fallen  in  love, 
but  engaged  themselves  to  be  married!  She  ought 
to  have  been  horrified,  to  have  severely  reproached 
them  for  their  imprudence,  used  all  her  influence, 
and  if  needs  be  her  authority,  to  stop  the  whole 
thing ;  advising  David  not  to  bind  himself  to  any 
girl  till  he  was  much  older,  and  his  prospects  se- 
cured ;  and  reasoning  with  Janetta  on  the  extreme 
folly  of  a  long  engagement,  and  how  very  much 
better  it  would  be  for  her  to  pause,  and  make  some 
"good"  marriage  with  a  man  of  wealth  and  posi- 
tion, who  could  keep  her  comfortably. 

All  this,  no  doubt,  was  what  a  prudent  and  far- 
seeing  mother  or  friend  ought  to  have  said  and 
8 


172  THE  LAUKEL  BUSH. 

done.  Miss  Williams  did  no  such  thing,  and  said 
not  a  single  word.  She  only  kissed  her  "chil- 
dren " — Helen,  too,  whose  innocent  delight  was  the 
prettiest  thing  to  behold — then  sat  down  and  made 
tea  for  them  all,  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

But  such  events  do  not  happen  without  making 
a  slight  stir  in  a  family,  especially  such  a  quiet  fam- 
ily as  that  at  the  cottage.  Besides,  the  lovers  were 
too  childishly  happy  to  be  at  all  reticent  over  their 
felicity.  Before  David  was  turned  away  that  night 
to  the  hotel,  which  he  and  Mr.  Eoy  both  inhabited, 
every  body  in  the  house  knew  quite  well  that  Mr. 
Dalziel  and  Miss  Janetta  were  going  to  be  married. 

And  every  body  had  of  course  suspected  it  long 
ago,  and  was  not  in  the  least  surprised,  so  that  the 
mistress  of  the  household  herself  was  half  ashamed 
to  confess  how  very  much  surprised  she  had  been. 
However,  as  every  body  seemed  delighted — for 
most  people  have  a  "sneaking  kindness"  toward 
young  lovers — she  kept  her  own  counsel ;  smiled 
blandly  over  her  old  cook's  half-pathetic  congrat- 
ulations to  the  young  couple,  who  were  "like  the 
young  bears,  with  all  their  troubles  before  them," 
and  laughed  at  the  sympathetic  forebodings  of  the 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOYE  STORY.  173 

girls'  faithful  maid,  a  rather  elderly  person,  who 
was  supposed  to  have  been  once  "disappointed," 
and  who  "hoped  Mr.  Dalziel  was  not  too  young 
to  know  his  own  mind."  Still,  in  spite  of  all,  the 
family  were  very  much  delighted,  and  not  a  little 
proud. 

David  walked  in,  master  of  the  position  now,  di- 
rectly after  breakfast,  and  took  the  sisters  out  to 
walk,  both  of  them ;  declaring  he  was  as  much  en- 
cumbered as  if  he  were  going  to  marry  two  young 
ladies  at  once,  but  bearing  his  lot  with  great  equa- 
nimity. His  love-making,  indeed,  was  so  extraor- 
dinarily open  and  undisguised  that  it  did  not  much 
matter  who  was  by.  And  Helen  was  of  that  sweet, 
negative  nature  that  seemed  made  for  the  express 
purpose  of  playing  "gooseberry." 

Directly  they  had  departed,  Mr.  Eoy  came  in. 

He  might  have  been  a  far  less  acute  observer 
than  he  was,  not  to  detect  at  once  that  "something 
had  happened  "  in  the  little  family.  Miss  Williams 
kept  him  waiting  several  minutes,  and  when  she 
did  come  in,  her  manner  was  nervous  and  agitated. 
They  spoke  about  the  weather  and  one  or  two 
trivial  things;  but  more  than  once  Fortune  felt 


174  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

him  looking  at  her,  with  that  keen,  kindly  observa- 
tion, which  had  been  sometimes,  during  all  these 
weeks,  now  running  into  months,  of  almost  daily 
meeting  and  of  the  closest  intimacy,  a  very  diffi- 
cult thing  to  bear. 

He  was  exceedingly  kind  to  her  always;  there 
was  no  question  of  that.  Without  making  any 
show  of  it,  he  seemed  always  to  know  where  she 
was  and  what  she  was  doing.  Nothing  ever  less- 
ened his  silent  care  of  her.  If  ever  she  wanted 
help,  there  he  was  to  give  it;  and  in  all  their  ex- 
cursions she  had  a  quiet  conviction  that  whoever 
forgot  her,  or  her  comfort,  he  never  would.  But, 
then,  it  was  his  way.  Some  men  have  eyes  and 
ears  for  only  one  woman,  and  that  merely  while 
they  happen  to  be  in  love  with  her ;  whereas,  Rob- 
ert  Roy  was  courteous  and  considerate  to  every 
woman;  even  as  he  was  kind  to  every  weak  or 
helpless  creature  that  crossed  his  path. 

Evidently,  he  perceived  that  all  was  not  right; 
and  though  he  said  nothing,  there  was  a  tenderness 
in  his  manner  which  went  to  her  heart. 

"  You  are  not  looking  well  to-day ;  should  you 
not  go  out?"  he  said.  "  I  met  all  your  young  peo- 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STOEY.  175 

pie  walking  off  to  the  sands  :  they  seemed  extraor- 
dinarily happy." 

Fortune  was  much  perplexed.  She  did  not  like 
not  to  tell  him  the  news,  he,  who  had  so  complete- 
ly established  himself  as  a  friend  of  the  family. 
And  yet  to  tell  him  was  not  exactly  her  place ;  be- 
sides, he  might  not  care  to  hear.  Old  maid  as  she 
was,  or  thought  herself,  Miss  Williams  knew  enough 
of  men  not  to  fall  into  the  feminine  error  of  fan- 
cying they  feel  as  we  do ;  that  their  world  is  our 
world,  and  their  interests  our  interests.  To  most 
men,  a  leader  in  The  Times,  an  article  in  The  Quar- 
terly^ or  a  fall  in  the  money  market,  is  of  far  more 
importance  than  any  love  affair  in  the  world,  unless 
it  happens  to  be  their  own. 

"Why  should  I  tell  him?"  she  thought,  con- 
vinced that  he  noticed  the  anxiety  in  her  eyes,  the 
weariness  at  her  heart.  She  had  passed  an  almost 
sleepless  night,  pondering  over  the  affairs  of  these 
young  people,  who  never  thought  of  any  thing  be- 
yond their  own  new-born  happiness.  And  she  had 
perplexed  herself  with  wondering  whether  in  con- 
senting to  this  engagement  she  was  really  doing 
her  duty  by  her  girls,  who  had  no  one  but  her, 


176  THE  LAUEEL  BUSH. 

and  whom  she  was  so  tender  of,  for  their  dead  fa- 
ther's sake.  But  what  good  was  it  to  say  any 
thing?  She  must  bear  her  own  burden.  And 
yet — 

Robert  Roy  looked  at  her  with  his  kind,  half- 
amused  smile. 

"  You  had  better  tell  me  all  about  it ;  for,  in- 
deed, I  know  already." 

"What!  did  you  guess?" 

"Perhaps.  But  Dalziel  came  to  my  room  last 
night  and  poured  out  every  thing.  He  is  a  candid 
youth.  Well,  and  am  I  to  congratulate?" 

Greatly  relieved,  Fortune  looked  up. 

"That's  right,"  he  said;  "I  like  to  see  you 
smile.  A  minute  or  two  ago  you  seemed  as  if  yon 
had  the  cares  of  all  the  world  on  your  shoulders. 
Now,  that  is  not  exactly  the  truth.  Always  meet 
the  truth  face  to  face,  and  don't  be  frightened  at 
it." 

Ah  no !  If  she  had  had  that  strong  heart  to 
lean  on,  that  tender  hand  to  help  her  through  the 
world,  she  never  would  have  been  "  frightened  "  at 
any  thing. 

"  I  know  I  am  very  foolish,"  she  said  ;  "  but  there 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  177 

are  many  things  which  these  children  of  mine  don't 
see,  and  I  can't  help  seeing." 

"Certainly;  they  are  young,  and  we  are — well, 
never  mind.  Sit  down  here,  and  let  you  and  me 
talk  the  matter  quietly  over.  On  the  whole,  are 
you  glad  or  sorry?" 

"Both,  I  think.  David  is  able  to  take  care  of 
himself;  but  poor  little  Janetta — my  Janetta — what 
if  he  should  bring  her  to  poverty  ?  He  is  a  little 
reckless  about  money,  and  has  only  a  very  small 
certain  income.  Worse ;  suppose,  being  so  young, 
he  should  by-and-by  get  tired  of  her  and  neglect 
her,  and  break  her  heart  ?" 

"  Or  twenty  other  things  which  may  happen  or 
may  not,  and  of  which  they  must  take  the  chance, 
like  their  neighbors.  You  do  not  believe  very 
much  in  men,  I  see,  and  perhaps  you  are  right. 
We  are  a  bad  lot — a  bad  lot.  But  David  Dalziel 
is  as  good  as  most  of  us,  that  I  can  assure  you."  " 

She  could  hardly  tell  whether  he  was  in  jest  or 
earnest;  but  this  was  certain — he  meant  to  cheer 
and  comfort  her,  and  she  took  the  comfort  and  was 
thankful. 

"Now  to  the  point,"  continued  Mr.  Roy.     "You 


178  THE  LAUEEL  BUSH. 

feel  that,  in  a  worldly  point  of  view,  these  two 
have  done  a  very  foolish  thing,  and  you  have  aid- 
ed and  abetted  them  in  doing  it?" 

"Not  so,"  she  cried,  laughing;  "I  had  no  idea 
of  such  a  thing  till  David  told  me  yesterday  morn- 
ing of  his  intentions." 

"  Yes,  and  he  explained  to  me  why  he  told  you, 
and  why  he  dared  not  wait  any  longer.  He  blurts 
out  every  thing,  the  foolish  boy !  But  he  has  made 
friends  with  me  now.  They  do  seem  such  chil- 
dren, do  they  not?  compared  with  old  folks  like 
you  and  me." 

What  was  it  in  the  tone,  or  the  words,  which 
made  her  feel  not  in  the  least  vexed,  nor  once  at- 
tempt to  rebut  the  charge  of  being  "  old  ?" 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  Eobert  Eoy,  with 
one  of  his  sage  smiles,  "you  must  not  go  and  vex 
yourself  needlessly  about  trifles.  "We  should  not 
juflge  other  people  by  ourselves.  Every  body  is 
so  different.  Dalziel  may  make  his  way  all  the 
better  for  having  that  pretty  creature  for  a  wife ; 
not  but  what  some  other  pretty  creature  might 
soon  have  done  just  as  well.  Very  few  men  have 
tenacity  of  nature  enough,  if  they  can  not  get  the 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  179 

one  woman  they  love,  to  do  without  any  other  to 
the  close  of  their  days.  But  don't  be  distressing 
yourself  about  your  girl.  David  will  make  her  a 
very  good  husband.  They  will  be  happy  enougb, 
even  though  not  very  rich." 

"Does  that  matter  much?'7 

"I  used  to  think  so.  I  had  so  sore  a  lesson 
of  poverty  in  my  youth,  that  it  gave  me  an  al- 
most morbid  terror  of  it,  not  for  myself,  but  for 
any  woman  I  cared  for.  Once  I  would  not  have 
done  as  Dalziel  has  for  the  world.  Now  I  have 
changed  my  mind.  At  any  rate,  David  will  not 
have  one  misfortune  to  contend  with.  He  has  a 
thoroughly  good  opinion  of  himself,  poor  fellow! 
He  will  not  suffer  from  that  horrible  self-distrust 
which  makes  some  men  let  themselves  drift  on  and 
on  with  the  tide,  instead  of  taking  the  rudder  into 
their  own  hands  and  steering  straight  on — direct 
for  the  haven  where  they  would  be.  Oh  that  I 
had  done  it!" 

He  spoke  passionately,  and  then  sat  silent.  At 
last,  muttering  something  about  "  begging  her  par- 
don," and  "taking  a  liberty,"  he  changed  the  con- 
versation into  another  channel,  by  asking  whether 
8* 


180  THE  LAUEEL  BUSH. 

this  marriage,  when  it  happened — which  of  course 
could  not  be  just  immediately — would  make  any 
difference  to  her  circumstances  ? 

Some  difference,  she  explained,  because  the  girls 
would  receive  their  little  fortunes  whenever  they 
came  of  age,  or  married,  and  the  sisters  would  not 
like  to  be  parted;  besides,  Helen's  money  would 
help  the  establishment.  Probably,  whenever  Da- 
vid married,  he  would  take  them  both  away;  in- 
deed he  had  said  as  much. 

"And  then  shall  you  stay  on  here?" 

"  I  may,  for  I  have  a  small  income  of  my  own ; 
besides,  there  are  your  two  little  boys,  and  I  might 
find  two  or  three  more.  But  I  do  not  trouble  my- 
self much  about  the  future.  One  thing  is  certain, 
I  need  never  work  as  hard  as  I  have  done  all  my 
life." 

"Have  you  worked  so  very  hard,  then,  my 
poor—" 

He  left  the  sentence  unfinished;  his  hand,  half 
extended,  was  drawn  back,  for  the  three  young 
people  were  seen  coming  down  the  garden,  follow- 
ed by  the  two  boys,  returning  from  their  classes. 
It  was  nearly  dinner-time,  and  people  must  dine, 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  181 

even  though  in  love.  And  boys  must  be  kept  to 
their  school- work,  and  all  the  daily  duties  of  life 
must  be  done.  Well,  perhaps,  for  many  of  us  that 
such  should  be !  I  think  it  was  as  well  for  poor 
Fortune  Williams. 

The  girls  had  come  in  wet  through  with  one  of 
those  sudden  "haars"  which  are  not  uncommon  at 
St.  Andrews  in  spring,  and  it  seemed  likely  to  last 
all  day.  Mr.  Koy  looked  out  of  the  window  at  it 
with  a  slightly  dolorous  air. 

"I  suppose  I  am  rather  de  trop  here;  but,  really,  I 
wish  you  would  not  turn  me  out.  In  weather  like 
this  our  hotel  coffee-room  is  just  a  trifle  dull,  isn't 
it,  Dalziel  ?  And,  Miss  Williams,  your  parlor  looks 
so  comfortable !  Will  you  let  me  stay  ?" 

He  made  the  request  with  a  simplicity  quite  pa- 
thetic. One  of  the  most  lovable  things  about  this 
man — is  it  not  in  all  men  ? — was,  that  with  all  his 
shrewdness  and  cleverness,  and  his  having  been 
knocked  up  and  down  the  world  for  so  many  years, 
he  still  kept  a  directness  and  simpleness  of  char- 
acter almost  child-like. 

To  refuse  would  have  been  unkind,  impossible ; 
so  Miss  Williams  told  him  he  should  certainly 


182  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

stay,  if  he  could  make  himself  comfortable.  And 
to  that  end  she  soon  succeeded  in  turning  off  her 
two  turtle-doves  into  a  room  by  themselves,  for 
the  use  of  which  they  had  already  bargained,  in  or- 
der to  "  read  together,  and  improve  their  minds." 
Meanwhile  she  and  Helen  tried  to  help  the  two  lit- 
tle boys  to  spend  a  dull  holiday  indoors,  if  they 
were  ever  dull  beside  Uncle  Kobert — who  had  not 
lost  his  old  influence  with  boys,  and  to  those  boys 
was  already  a  father  in  all  but  the  name. 

Often  had  Fortune  watched  them,  sitting  upon 
his  chair,  hanging  about  him  as  he  walked,  coming 
to  him  for  sympathy  in  every  thing.  Yes,  every 
body  loved  him,  for  there  was  such  an  amount  of 
love  in  him  toward  every  mortal  creature,  except — 

She  looked  at  him  and  his  boys,  then  turned 
away.  What  was  to  be,  had  been,  and  always 
would  be.  That  which  we,  fight  against  in  our 
youth  as  being  human  will,  human  error,  in  our 
age  we  take  humbly,  knowing  it  to  be  the  will  of 
God. 

By-and-by  in  the  little  household  the  gas  was 
lighted,  the  curtains  drawn,  and  the  two  lovers 
fetched  in  for  tea,  to  behave  themselves  as  much  as 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  183 

they  could  like  ordinary  mortals,  in  general  socie- 
ty, for  the  rest  of  the  evening.  A  very  pleasant 
evening  it  was,  spite  of  this  new  element ;  which 
was  got  rid  of  as  much  as  possible  by  means  of  the 
window  recess,  where  Janetta  and  David  encamped 
composedly,  a  little  aloof  from  the  rest. 

"I  hope  they  don't  mind  me,"  said  Mr.  Roy, 
casting  an  amused  glance  in  their  direction,  and 
then  adroitly  manoeuvring  with  the  back  of  his 
chair  so  as  to  interfere  as  little  as  possible  with  the 
young  couple's  felicity. 

"  Oh  no,  they  don't  mind  you  at  all,"  answer- 
ed Helen,  always  affectionate,  if  not  always  wise. 
"  Besides,  I  dare  say  you  yourself  were  young  once, 
Mr.  Roy." 

Evidently  Helen  had  no  idea  of  the  plans  for  her 
future  which  were  being  talked  about  in  St.  An- 
drews! Had  he?  No  one  could  even  speculate, 
with  such  an  exceedingly  reserved  person.  He  re- 
tired behind  his  newspaper,  and  said  not  a  single 
word. 

Nevertheless,  there  was  no  cloud  in  the  atmos- 
phere. Every  body  was  used  to  Mr.  Roy's  silence 
in  company.  And  he  never  troubled  any  body, 


184:  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

not  even  the  children,  with  either  a  gloomy  look 
or  a  harsh  word.  He  was  so  comfortable  to  live 
with,  so  unfailingly  sweet  and  kind. 

Altogether,  there  was  a  strange  atmosphere  of 
peace  in  the  cottage  that  evening,  though  nobody 
seemed  to  do  any  thing  or  say  very  much.  Now 
and  then  Mr.  Eoy  read  aloud  bits  out  of  his  endless 
newspapers:  he  had  a  truly  masculine  mania  for 
newspapers,  and  used  to  draw  one  after  another  out 
of  his  pockets  as  endless  as  a  conjurer's  pocket- 
handkerchiefs.  And  he  liked  to  share  their  con- 
tents with  any  body  that  would  listen ;  though  I 
am  afraid  nobody  did  listen  much  to-night  except 
Miss  Williams,  who  sat  beside  him  at  her  sewing, 
in  order  to  get  the  benefit  of  the  same  lamp.  And 
between  his  readings  he  often  turned  and  looked 
at  her — her  bent  head,  her  smooth,  soft  hair,  her 
busy  hands. 

Especially  after  one  sentence,  out  of  the  "Varie- 
ties "  of  some  Fife  newspaper.  He  had  begun  to 
read  it,  then  stopped  suddenly,  but  finished  it.  It 
consisted  only  of  a  few  words:  "'Young  love  is  pas- 
sionate, old  love  is  faithful;  but  the  very  tenderest  thing 
in  all  this  world  is  a  love  revived.1  That  is  true." 


AN   OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  185 

He  said  only  those  three  words,  in  a  very  low, 
quiet  voice,  but  Fortune  heard.  His  look  she  did 
not  see,  but  she  felt  it — even  as  a  person  long  kept 
in  darkness  might  feel  a  sunbeam  strike  along  the 
wall,  making  it  seem  possible  that  there  might  be 
somewhere  in  the  earth  such  a  thing  as  day. 

About  9  P.M.  the  lovers  in  the  window  recess 
discovered  that  the  haar  was  all  gone,  and  that  it 
was  a  most  beautiful  moonlight  night;  full  moon 
— the  very  night  they  had  planned  to  go  in  a  body 
to  the  top  of  St.  Eegulus's  Tower. 

"  I  suppose  they  must,"  said  Mr.  Roy  to  Miss 
Williams ;  adding,  "  Let  the  young  folks  make  the 
most  of  their  youth ;  it  never  will  corne  again." 

"No." 

"And  you  and  I  must  go  too.  It  will  be  more 
comme  ilfaut,  as  people  say." 

So,  with  a  half •  regretful  look  at  the  cozy  fire, 
Mr.  Roy  marshaled  the  lively  party,  Janetta  and 
David,  Helen  and  the  two  boys;  engaging  to  get 
them  the  key  of  that  silent  garden  of  graves,  over 
which  St.  Regulus's  Tower  keeps  stately  watch. 
How  beautiful  it  looked,  with  the  clear  sky  shining 
through  its  open  arch,  and  the  brilliant  moonlight, 


186  THE   LAUREL   BUSH. 

bright  as  day  almost,  but  softer,  flooding  every  al- 
ley of  that  peaceful  spot !  It  quieted  even  the  noi- 
sy party  who  were  bent  on  climbing  the  tower,  to 
catch  a  view,  such  as  is  rarely  equaled,  of  the  pict- 
uresque old  city  and  its  beautiful  bay. 

"A  'comfortable  place  to  sleep  in,'  as  some  one 
once  said  to  me  in  a  Melbourne  church-yard.  But 

'east  or  west,  home  is  best '  I  think,  Bob,  I 

shall  leave  it  in  my  will  that  you  are  to  bury  me 
at  St.  Andrews." 

"  Nonsense,  Uncle  Kobert.  You  are  not  to  talk 
of  dying.  And  you  are  to  come  with  us  up  to  the 
top  of  the  tower.  Miss  Williams,  will  you  come 
too?" 

"No,  I  think  she  had  better  not,"  said  Uncle 
Eobert,  decisively.  "  She  will  stay  here,  and  I  will 
keep  her  company." 

So  the  young  people  all  vanished  up  the  tower, 
and  the  two  elders  walked  silently  side  by  side,  by 
the  quiet  graves — by  the  hearts  which  had  ceased 
beating,  the  hands  which,  however  close  they  lay, 
would  never  clasp  one  another  any  more. 

"Yes,  St.  Andrews  is  a  pleasant  place,"  said 
Robert  Roy,  at  last.  "  I  spoke  in  jest,  but  I  meant 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  187 

in  earnest ;  I  have  no  wish  to  leave  it  again.  And 
you,"  he  added,  seeing  that  she  answered  nothing 
— "what  plans  have  you?  Shall  you  stay  on  at 
the  cottage  till  these  young  people  are  married  ?" 

"Most  likely.  We  are  all  fond  of  the  little 
house." 

11  No  wonder.  They  say  a  wandering  life  after 
a  certain  number  of  years  unsettles  a  man  forever ; 
he  rests  nowhere,  but  goes  on  wandering  to  the 
end;  but  I  feel  just  the  contrary.  I  think  I  shall 
stay  permanently  at  St.  Andrews.  You  will  let 
me  come  about  your  cottage,  'like  a  tame  cat,'  as 
that  foolish  fellow  owned  he  had  called  me — will 
you  not?" 

"  Certainly." 

But  at  the  same  time  she  felt  there  was  a  strain 
beyond  which  she  could  not  bear.  To  be  so  near, 
yet  so  far ;  so  much  to  him,  and  yet  so  little.  She 
was  conscious  of  a  wild  desire  to  run  away  some- 
where— run  away  and  escape  it  all ;  of  a  longing 
to  be  dead  and  buried,  deep  in  the  sea,  up  away 
among  the  stars. 

"  Will  those  young  people  be  very  long,  do  you 
think?" 


188  THE  LAUKEL  BUSH. 

At  the  sound  of  her  voice  he  turned  to  look  at 
her,  and  saw  that  she  was  deadly  pale,  and  shiver- 
ing from  head  to  foot. 

"This  will  never  do.  You  must  'come  under 
my  plaidie,'  as  the  children  say,  and  I  will  take 
you  home  at  once.  Boys!"  he  called  out  to  the 
figures  now  appearing  like  jackdaws  at  the  top  of 
the  tower,  "  we  are  going  straight  home.  Follow 
as  soon  as  you  like.  Yes,  it  must  be  so,"  he  an- 
swered to  the  slight  resistance  she  made.  "They 
must  all  take  care  of  themselves.  I  mean  to  take 
care  of  you." 

Which  he  did,  wrapping  her  well  in  the  half  of 
his  plaid,  drawing  her  hand  under  his  arm  and 
holding  it  there — holding  it  close  and  warm  at  his 
heart,  all  the  way  along  the  Scores  and  across  the 
Links,  scarcely  speaking  a  single  word  until  they 
reached  the  garden  gate.  Even  there  he  held  it 
still. 

"  I  see  your  girls  coming,  so  I  shall  leave  you. 
You  are  warm  now,  are  you  not  ?" 

"Quite  warm." 

"  Good-night,  then.  Stay.  Tell  me" — he  spoke 
rapidly,  and  with  much  agitation.  "Tell  me  just 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  189 

one  thing,  and  I  will  never  trouble  you  again. 
Why  did  you  not  answer  a  letter  I  wrote  to  you 
seventeen  years  ago  ?" 

"I  never  got  any  letter.  I  never  had  one  word 
from  you  after  the  Sunday  you  bid  me  good-bye, 
promising  to  write." 

"And  I  did  write,"  cried  he,  passionately.  "I 
posted  it  with  my  own  hands.  You  should  have 
got  it  on  the  Tuesday  morning." 

She  leaned  against  the  laurel  bush,  that  fatal 
laurel  bush,  and  in  a  few  breathless  words  told  him 
what  David  had  said  about  the  hidden  letter. 

"It  must  have  been  my  letter.  Why  did  you 
not  tell  me  this  before  ?" 

11  How  could  I?  I  never  knew  you  had  written. 
You  never  said  a  word.  In  all  these  years  you 
have  never  said  a  single  word." 

Bitterly,  bitterly  he  turned  away.  The  groan 
that  escaped  him — a  man's  groan  over  his  lost  life 
— lost,  not  wholly  through  fate  alone — was  such 
as  she,  the  woman  whose  portion  had  been  sorrow, 
passive  sorrow  only,  never  forgot  in  all  her  days. 

"Don't  mind  it,"  she  whispered,  "don't  mind  it. 
It  is  so  long  past  now." 


190  THE   LAUKEL  BUSH. 

He  made  no  immediate  answer,  then  said,  "Have 
you  no  idea  what  was  in  the  letter?" 

"No." 

"It  was  to  ask  you  a  question,  which  I  had  de- 
termined not  to  ask  just  then,  but  I  changed  my 
mind.  The  answer,  I  told  you,  I  should  wait  for 
in  Edinburgh  seven  days ;  after  that,  I  should  con- 
clude you  meant  No,  and  sail.  No  answer  came, 
and  I  sailed." 

He  was  silent.  So  was  she.  A  sense  of  cruel  fa- 
tality came  over  her.  Alas !  those  lost  years,  that 
might  have  been  such  happy  years !  At  length  she 
said,  faintly,  "  Forget  it.  It  was  not  your  fault." 

"  It  was  my  fault.  If  not  mine,  you  were  still 
yourself — I  ought  never  to  have  let  you  go.  I 
ought  to  have  asked  again ;  to  have  sought  through 
the  whole  world  till  I  found  you  again.  And  now 
that  I  have  found  you — " 

"  Hush,  the  girls  are  here." 

They  came  along  laughing,  that  merry  group — 
with  whom  life  was  at  its  spring — who  had  lost 
nothing,  knew  not  what  it  was  to  lose ! 

"Good-night,"  said  Mr.  Koy,  hastily.  "But  to- 
morrow morning?" 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  191 

"Yes." 

"  There  never  is  night  to  which  comes  no  morn," 
says  the  proverb.  Which  is  not  always  true,  at 
least  as  to  this  world ;  but  it  is  true  sometimes. 

That  April  morning  Fortune  Williams  rose  with 
a  sense  of  strange  solemnity — neither  sorrow  nor 
joy.  Both  had  gone  by ;  but  they  had  left  behind 
them  a  deep  peace. 

After  her  young  people  had  walked  themselves 
off,  which  they  did  immediately  after  breakfast,  she 
attended  to  all  her  household  duties,  neither  few 
nor  small,  and  then  sat  down  with  her  needle- work 
beside  the  open  window.  It  was  a  lovely  day ;  the 
birds  were  singing,  the  leaves  budding,  a  few  early 
flowers  making  all  the  air  to  smell  like  spring. 
And  she  —  with  her  it  was  autumn  now.  She 
knew  it,  but  still  she  did  not  grieve. 

Presently,  walking  down  the  garden  walk,  al- 
most with  the  same  firm  step  of  years  ago — how 
well  she  remembered  it ! — Eobert  Eoy  came ;  but 
it  was  still  a  few  minutes  before  she  could  go  into 
the  little  parlor  to  meet  him.  At  last  she  did, 
entering  softly,  her  hand  extended  as  usual.  He 
took  it,  also  as  usual,  and  then  looked  down  into 


192  THE  LAUEEL  BUSH. 

her  face,  as  he  had  done  that  Sunday.  "  Do  you 
remember  this?  I  have  kept  it  for  seventeen 
years." 

It  was  her  mother's  ring.  She  looked  up  with 
a  dumb  inquiry. 

"  My  love,  did  you  think  I  did  not  love  you — 
you  always,  and  only  you  ?" 

So  saying,  he  opened  his  arms;  she  felt  them 
close  round  her,  just  as  in  her  dream.  Only  they 
were  warm,  living  arms ;  and  it  was  this  world,  not 
the  next.  All  those  seventeen  bitter  years  seem- 
ed swept  away,  annihilated  in  a  moment ;  she  laid 
her  head  on  his  shoulder  and  wept  out  her  happy 

heart  there. 

******* 

The  little  world  of  St.  Andrews  was  very  much 
astonished  when  it  learned  that  Mr.  Eoy  was  going 
to  marry,  not  one  of  the  pretty  Miss  Moseleys,  but 
their  friend  and  former  governess,  a  lady  not  by 
any  means  young,  and  remarkable  for  nothing  ex- 
cept great  sweetness  and  good  sense,  which  made 
every  body  respect  and  like  her;  though  nobody 
was  much  excited  concerning  her.  Now,  people 
had  been  excited  about  Mr.  Koy,  and  some  were 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   LOVE   STORY.  193 

rather  sorry  for  him ;  thought,  perhaps,  he  had 
been  taken  in,  till  some  story  got  wind  of  its  hav- 
ing been  an  "old  attachment,"  which  interested 
them,  of  course ;  still,  the  good  folks  were  half  an- 
gry with  him,  to  go  and  marry  an  old  maid  when 
he  might  have  had  his  choice  of  half  a  dozen 
young  ones ;  when,  with  his  fortune  and  character, 
he  might,  as  people  say,  as  they  had  said  of  that 
other  good  man,  Mr.  Moseley — "  have  married  any 
body." 

They  forgot  that  Mr.  Eoy  happened  to  be  one 
of  those  men  who  have  no  particular  desire  to 
marry  "  any  body ;"  to  whom  the  woman,  whether 
found  early  or  late,  alas !  in  this  case  found  early 
and  won  late,  is  the  one  woman  in  the  world  for- 
ever. Poor  Fortune — rich  Fortune !  she  need  not 
be  afraid  of  her  fading  cheek,  her  silvering  hair ; 
he  would  never  see  either.  The  things  he  loved 
her  for  were  quite  apart  from  any  thing  that 
youth  could  either  give  or  take  away.  As  he 
said  once  when  she  lamented  hers,  "Never  mind, 
let  it  go.  You  will  always  be  yourself — and 
mine." 

This  was  enough.     He  loved  her.     He  had  al- 


194  THE   LAUREL  BUSH. 

ways  loved  her:  she  had  no  fear  but  that  he 
would  love  her  faithfully  to  the  end. 

Theirs  was  a  very  quiet  wedding,  and  a  speedy 
one.  "  Why  should  they  wait  ?  they  had  waited 
too  long  already,"  he  said,  with  some  bitterness. 
But  she  felt  none.  With  her  all  was  peace. 

Mr.  Roy  did  another  very  foolish  thing,  which  I 
can  not  conscientiously  recommend  to  any  middle- 
aged  bachelor.  Besides  marrying  his  wife,  he  mar- 
ried her  whole  family.  There  was  no  other  way 
out  of  the  difficulty,  and  neither  of  them  was  in- 
clined to  be  content  with  happiness,  leaving  duty 
unfulfilled.  So  he  took  the  largest  house  in  St 
Andrews,  and  brought  to  it  Janetta  and  Helen,  till 
David  Dalziel  could  claim  them ;  likewise  his  own 
two  orphan  boys,  until  they  went  to  Oxford ;  for 
he  meant  to  send  them  there,  and  bring  them  up 
in  every  way  like  his  own  sons. 

Meantime,  it  was  a  rather  heterogeneous  family, 
but  the  two  heads  of  it  bore  their  burden  with 
great  equanimity,  nay,  cheerfulness ;  saying  some- 
times, with  a  smile  which  had  the  faintest  shadow 
of  pathos  in  it,  "  that  they  liked  to  have  young  life 
about  them.7' 


AN   OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY.  195 

And  by  degrees  they  grew  younger  themselves ; 
less  of  the  old  bachelor  and  old  maid,  and  more  of 
the  happy  middle-aged  couple  to  whom  Heaven 
gave,  in  their  decline,  a  St.  Martin's  summer  almost 
as  sweet  as  spring.  They  were  both  too  wise  to 
poison  the  present  by  regretting  the  past — a  past 
which,  if  not  wholly,  was  partly,  at  least,  owing  to 
that  strange  fatality  which  governs  so  many  lives, 
only  some  have  the  will  to  conquer  it,  others  not. 
And  there  are  two  sides  to  every  thing:  Kobert 
Roy,  who  alone  knew  how  hard  his  own  life  had 
been,  sometimes  felt  a  stern  joy  in  thinking  no  one 
had  shared  it. 

Still,  for  a  long  time  there  lay  at  the  bottom  of 
that  strong,  gentle  heart  of  his  a  kind  of  remorse- 
ful tenderness,  which  showed  itself  in  heaping  his 
wife  with  every  luxury  that  his  wealth  could 
bring;  better  than  all,  in  surrounding  her  with  that 
unceasing  care  which  love  alone  teaches,  never  al- 
lowing the  wind  to  blow  on  her  too  roughly,  his 
"  poor  lamb,"  as  he  sometimes  called  her,  who  had 
suffered  so  much. 

They  are  sure,  humanly  speaking,  to  "  live  very- 
happy  to  the  end  of  their  days."  And  I  almost 

9 


196  THE  LAUREL  BUSH. 

fancy  sometimes,  if  I  were  to  go  to  St.  Andrews,  as 
I  hope  to  do  many  a  time,  for  I  am  as  fond  of  the 
Aged  City  as  they  are,  that  I  should  see  these  two, 
made  one  at  last  after  all  those  cruel  divided  years, 
wandering  together  along  the  sunshiny  sands,  or 
standing  to  watch  the  gay  golfing  parties ;  nay,  F 
am  not  sure  that  Robert  Roy  would  not  be  visible 
sometimes,  in  his  red  coat,  club  in  hand,  crossing 
the  Links,  a  victim  to  the  universal  insanity  of  St. 
Andrews,  yet  enjoying  himself,  as  golfers  always 
seem  to  do,  with  the  enjoyment  of  a  very  boy. 

She  is  not  a  girl,  far  from  it;  but  there  will  be  a 
girlish  sweetness  in  her  faded  face  till  its  last  smile. 
And  to  see  her  sitting  beside  her  husband  on  the 
green  slopes  of  the  pretty  garden  knitting,  perhaps, 
while  he  reads  his  eternal  newspapers,  is  a  perfect 
picture.  They  do  not  talk  very  much ;  indeed,  they 
were  neither  of  them  ever  great  talkers.  But  each 
knows  the  other  is  close  at  hand,  ready  for  any 
needful  word,  and  always  ready  with  that  silent 
sympathy  which  is  so  mysterious  a  thing,  the  rarest 
thing  to  find  in  all  human  lives.  These  have  found 
it,  and  are  satisfied.  And  day  by  day  truer  grows 
the  truth  of  that  sentence,  which  Mrs.  Roy  once 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   LOVE  STOEY.  197 

discovered  in  her  husband's  pocket-book,  cut  out 
of  a  newspaper — she  read  and  replaced  it  without 
a  word,  but  with  something  between  a  smile  and  a 
tear:  "Young  love  is  passionate,  old  love  is  faithful; 
but  the  very  tenderest  thing  in  all  this  world  is  a  love 
revived." 


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